The Vampire's Apprentice
by Evilida
Summary: House wants Wilson to be part of the new life he has chosen. House/Wilson slash. Commments always appreciated. Almost done - 1 more chapter to go (I hope).
1. The Vampire's Apprentice

**Author's note** – I quite like Victorian ghost and vampire stories. This story is a slightly modernized version of one.

**DISCLAIMER**- House, Wilson, and Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital are all the property of David Shore et al. not me.

House rang the doorbell half a dozen times and, when that had no effect, rapped on Wilson's door with his cane leaving a dent in the paintwork.

"Wilson, answer your door," he called out imperiously. "It's cold out here!"

"Would you keep your voice down? My neighbours are sleeping. So was I until thirty seconds ago."

Wilson opened the door. House stood on the doorstep.

"Don't just stand there letting the cold air in. Come in," Wilson said.

Wilson was wearing a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. His hair was mussed and his eyes were half shut. He was annoyed at House for waking him up at two thirty in the morning, but not nearly as annoyed as he should have been. House hadn't shown up for work for a couple of days and hadn't answered Wilson's phone calls, and he'd been worried.

"What are you doing here? Have you been evicted from your apartment? Was it the guitar playing or the visits from call girls?" Wilson asked. "Never mind. You can tell me tomorrow. There's the couch and the blankets and pillows are in the closet."

Wilson gestured vaguely toward the closet and headed back to bed.

"Don't leave," House said. "I have to talk to you. It's urgent."

"Can't it wait till morning?"

"No," House said, "this can't wait. We have to talk before the sun rises."

House's voice carried an undercurrent of desperation. Wilson looked curiously at his old friend. House looked pale and his blue eyes seemed unnaturally bright. Wilson automatically put his hand to House's forehead, checking for a fever.

"How long were you waiting out in the cold?" Wilson asked. "You're freezing. I'll make you some coffee to warm you up."

---------------------

House and Wilson were sitting around Wilson's kitchen table.

"Did I ever tell you about the Professor of Esoteric Medicine?" House asked. He held the cup of coffee in his hands, appreciating its warmth, but he didn't drink it.

"No," Wilson said. He had realized that he was not going to be able to get back to bed anytime soon and had poured a cup of coffee for himself.

"I went to his lectures while I was at Columbia. I don't think he was actually affiliated with the University at all, even though he called himself a visiting professor from the University of Bucharest. His lectures were held in the evening and in all sorts of odd places, wherever he could find a space. Sometimes one of his lectures would be in the back of a bar, another time in an empty theatre or a community hall.

I went at first because I'd heard that he was a good speaker and I needed some cheap entertainment to get my mind off the mess I was making of my life. This was about the time I had been caught cheating and my academic fate was in limbo.

The Professor of Esoteric Medicine was a tiny little man. He wasn't an albino but his skin was so pale that I wondered whether he might have some kind of light-sensitive disorder. It looked to me as if he had never seen the light of day. He had particularly intense eyes. When he focused them on me, I felt very uncomfortable but I couldn't turn away from him. He seemed to be very old, at least eighty, but he showed no signs of infirmity. He spoke for two and a half hours, with a great deal of energy and enthusiasm. His voice carried to the far reaches of the room effortlessly.

He talked about strange and inexplicable cases that he had come across in his studies and the medical practices of other times and other civilizations. Everything was described in such vivid detail, as if he'd been an actual witness to events. That was impossible though, because most of the things he talked about had taken place centuries ago.

I'd come with a group of friends, and they decided to slip out and go to a bar at about ten o'clock. I stayed till the end though, and when he told the remaining members of the audience the date and time of his next lecture, I made a note of it. I must have attended a half dozen of his lectures, and then I was expelled from Columbia and I left New York. I doubt if I'd given a passing thought to him in all the years since, until I saw a handout advertising one of his lectures stapled to a telephone pole a few days ago. Then I found another left under the windshield wiper of my car."

"Did you go to the lecture?" Wilson asked, taking a sip of coffee.

"Of course I did. And it was the same Professor of Esoteric Medicine I'd seen years before."

"If he was eighty when you saw him last time," Wilson said, "he'd be about a hundred now."

"He looked exactly the same. Unchanged. Not a day older. And still the fascinating, mesmerizing speaker I remembered.

There were only about a dozen or so people in the audience, and when his eyes rested on me, I was sure he recognized me. After the lecture was over, he stopped me as I was heading out the hall.

'I see life hasn't treated you particularly kindly, Dr. House,' he said. 'You are in pain.'

I wasn't all that surprised that he knew my name. After all, I am the foremost diagnostician in the United States."

"Why be modest?" Wilson commented. "Why not say the world?"

House ignored the interruption.

"He told me that he knew of a treatment that could eliminate my pain permanently. He told me that it was dangerous but that he was proof of what his treatment could accomplish. He'd been crippled by arthritis, every movement causing him excruciating pain, but then a respected colleague had taken pity on him, and showed him his secret. Since then, his existence was pain-free. He told me that he no longer feared pain or sorrow or death."

Wilson politely put his hand over his mouth as he yawned.

"Sounds like some kind of faith healer or panacea peddler," he said. "I hate con men who prey on sick people or people in pain. I can't tell you how many of my patients have fallen for those kinds of scams."

"I was doubtful, too," House said, "but he was a strangely persuasive man. The Professor convinced me to try his treatment, and it has been one hundred percent successful. I no longer feel any pain. I don't need my cane any more. I can walk perfectly well without it."

House stood up and walked around the room without his cane. He did not, as far as Wilson could tell, favour his good leg at all. He smiled at Wilson in a way that made his friend feel very uneasy. Too many teeth.

"What was it?" Wilson asked. "Hypnosis? Unfortunately the results are likely to be only temporary."

"No," House said. "Nothing so mundane, so trivial. I've been transformed. Like the Professor, I'm now a vampire."

Wilson laughed, almost choking on the coffee he had been drinking.

"This is your lamest practical joke ever," he said. "What did you really do? Inject your leg with some really serious pain-killers?"

"No," said House, "I'm serious. I'm a vampire now."

"A vampire," Wilson said. "One of the undead. An immortal bloodsucker. Right!"

"Yes. Though the Professor doesn't like the term 'immortal'. We don't age as you do, but we can be killed. He says using the term "immortality" makes us over-confident and careless. He prefers to say that our deaths can be indefinitely postponed."

"You must think I'm the most gullible person on the planet," Wilson said. "I understand the difference between the real world and horror fiction. I'm going to bed."

He stood up. House put his hand on Wilson's arm, and Wilson was once again surprised by how cold his friend's touch was. He looked down at House, and the older man's glittering blue eyes fixed on Wilson. Wilson could not move.

"I could demonstrate my new nature," he said, "but it might be distressing for you. I don't want to hurt you or scare you, but you have to listen to me. Promise me that you'll hear me out."

Wilson began to suspect that there was something wrong with House. His friend seemed entirely serious. Wilson wondered whether House was experiencing some drug-induced fantasy or a mental breakdown.

"Don't get upset," Wilson said. "I'm listening to you. Let me warm up your coffee. Want some cookies to go with that? I have a couple of iced almond cookies from the Italian bakery I was saving for my breakfast."

House shook his head.

"I've left my appetite for food behind. The idea of eating nauseates me. I'm undergoing a physical change that I don't fully understand yet. The Professor tries to explain it to me, but it's been such a long time since he was human.

I won't mind leaving pain behind, and the fear of death, but there are parts of my old life that I want to keep. I don't want an endless life without you, Wilson. You are what I would miss most."

"House, you're ill, but you don't have to worry. I won't leave you just because you're sick right now. I'll always be your friend and when you get better..."

"I'm not crazy, Wilson, and you don't have to humour me. I see that I'm going to have to give you a demonstration, just to make you see reason. Don't blame me if this upsets you! If you would only trust me I wouldn't have to do this."

House got up from the table. He was next to Wilson in an instant, his cool firm hands holding the younger man still.

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said gently, "but you have to know I'm telling the truth."

He leaned over and Wilson felt something sharp press against his neck. He cried out and House released him. Wilson put his hand up to his neck and felt something wet. He looked at his finger and saw blood.

"What did you do?" he asked. Wilson felt faint and had to sit down. "Was it a needle or a knife?"

"You know what it was. You felt my teeth against your neck, piercing the soft flesh. You taste delicious, Wilson. You're so sweet. I knew you would be good, but I couldn't have imagined..."

Unable to help himself, House licked the droplet of blood from the tiny puncture wound on Wilson's neck. Wilson shuddered as he felt House's sharp wet tongue against his skin. Then the world went dark.

-----------------------------------

When Wilson awoke, he was lying on the couch with his head resting on House's lap. He tried to sit up, but he felt dizzy.

"What happened?" he asked.

"You fainted," House said. "You'll be all right. Just rest for a minute."

"You cut me!"

"A couple of drops of blood and you make such a fuss!" House said. "I've had worse paper cuts."

House helped Wilson sit upright. The oncologist looked almost as pale as the vampire. Again House couldn't resist; he leaned over to taste the bead of blood that welled on Wilson's neck. So good.

"I'd better get you a band-aid for that," House said. "I don't want to see that mark on your neck, tempting me. I might go too far. I'm not quite in control yet."

House went to Wilson's medicine cabinet and came back with a band-aid. Then he went to the kitchen and made Wilson a cup of heavily sugared tea.

"Drink that," he said. "You've had a shock. If you'd only listened to me, I wouldn't have had to do that!"

Wilson wondered for a second if the tea might be drugged, decided he didn't care, and took a long sip. House sat next to Wilson on the couch and put his arm around him. Wilson thought that House was probably trying to comfort him and help him adjust to a new situation, but having him so close was actually having the opposite effect. It emphasized how different this being was from the House he knew – how cold and remote and strange. Wilson edged away from him, shut his eyes to block him out, and took another sip of the sweet tea.

"Wilson, this is all real. You're not dreaming."

Wilson didn't respond, and House sighed.

"It's not like I have a lot of time here. The sun comes up in a few hours and the light of the sun really does burn us. That part of vampire lore isn't a myth. The Professor's leaving Princeton tomorrow night, and I'm going with him. There's a period of apprenticeship...it might last for a few months, or years or even decades. Time isn't all that important to us. It matters to you though. It might be a long time before I return, and you get closer to death every day. You might not be alive next time I come back, or you might be old and wrinkled. I want you to be with me always, just as you are now."

"Why me? Why not Cuddy?"

"Cuddy has attachments. She has a new baby she wants to raise. She has brothers and sisters and parents who love her. She's not going to want to leave all that.

You're all alone in the world, Wilson, except for me. You hardly ever see your parents or your brother, and every relationship you've ever had has come to a disastrous end. Except for our friendship. It's the only thing in your life right now. It's all you have.

Besides I love you more than Cuddy. When I was like you – human – hormones clouded this issue. I felt more of a sexual attraction for her than for you because I was predominantly heterosexual."

"You're not human anymore," Wilson said quietly.

"You knew that instinctively when you opened the door, but you invited me in anyway."

House leaned over Wilson and kissed him on the neck, his sharp teeth barely brushing against the delicate skin. He touched Wilson's cheek and turned his head gently.

"Open your eyes, Wilson. See me as I really am. I'm perfect now. You can be perfect too."

Wilson opened his eyes and stared into the cold, brilliant blue eyes of the monster who had once been his best friend.

"What if I don't want to be a vampire? What if I say no?"

"The Professor has warned me how careful we have to be. People don't really believe that vampires exist and we have to keep it that way. If you refuse, I'll have to kill you, but I'll be very gentle. It won't hurt at all and I'll hold you so you won't die alone."

"You've killed already then."

"Yes," said House. "I killed a man passed out in an alley. It was a cold night, so he would probably have died of hypothermia anyway. He didn't taste as sweet as you."

"I don't want to kill."

"You think it will bother you, but it won't. Everything's different after."

"You're not House anymore. House wouldn't kill."

It took an enormous effort of will to look away from its beautiful blue eyes.

House's lips pressed against Wilson's, cold but soft and yielding. House's whiskers grated against his cheek. His fingertips caressed Wilson's cheek. Then House put his arms around Wilson and pulled him close again. He was much stronger than Wilson.

"You're cold and you don't smell like him," Wilson said. "You smell like brittle old newspaper."

"Your House is gone, and he's not coming back. I'm all there is now, and I love you. Please, Wilson, I need you. Join me. Say yes for my sake."

Wilson looked at the creature. He thought he saw the glimmer of tears in its unnaturally brilliant eyes, but he knew he could be imagining it. He wanted so much to see a sign that the vampire still retained some of House's humanity. He reached out and touched its cheek. It was wet. Real tears.

"Yes," Wilson said.

House smiled, exposing his fangs for the first time, and Wilson felt the effects of a surge of adrenaline. His body told him that this was a predator and he must run away. He looked deep into House's eyes until his panic subsided. Then House leaned over. The pain of the puncture was sharp and intense but it lasted only a second. He could feel House draining him but he was not afraid. He shut his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep, Wilson!" House warned. "If you fall asleep, you'll die."

He pinched Wilson viciously until he opened his eyes. Then House went back to drinking his blood.

"Wilson, look at me!' he ordered. "Focus on me. The next bit is going to be hard for you, but if you trust me, if you love me, it won't be so scary. It's a metamorphosis, like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly, and you'll need quiet and dark and peace while your body is changing. Do you understand? Nod if you understand."

Wilson nodded.

"I'm going to wrap you up in a piece of cloth, to hold you tight so you won't move."

"It's a shroud," Wilson whispered. It was hard to speak.

"Yes, it's a shroud. And the quiet, dark, peaceful place is a coffin. The details are frightening. Just remember that I went through this process too. All the time you're in the coffin, I'll be right there, watching over you."

"How long?"

"Until sunset tomorrow. Fewer than twenty four hours and then we'll be together forever. You can hold on for that long, can't you? Just remember, you can't fall asleep."

"I'm so tired."

House had begun winding the shroud around Wilson. He covered every inch of his body, even his head.

"You're going to feel like you're suffocating, but you're not. There's a chemical in our bite that slows down your heart and lungs."

House picked up Wilson as if he weighed no more than a rag doll. He went to the door and looked up and down the street, checking that there were no witnesses, then carried him out to the car where the Professor was waiting. He carefully manoeuvred Wilson into the back seat and then took the front passenger seat.

"This is a mistake," the Professor said, as he pulled out. "One doctor goes missing, everybody's upset for a while and then they forget. Two from the same hospital is a major news story."

"I want Wilson and I'm not leaving without him."

"The apprentice doesn't get to set the terms," the Professor said.

"This apprentice already has."

"You think I don't understand but I do. When I was alive, I had a wife," the Professor said. "Actually I had quite a few wives, but one of them was my favourite. The youngest. She was so pretty. I can't remember her name, but I'm sure I loved her deeply. I wanted to make her one of us, but we had children who depended on her. I decided to wait until they were grown. When I came back for her, she was old and ugly and married to somebody else, so I killed her instead. The point of the story is that love is a human thing. It doesn't last. It has nothing to do vampires."

"Did you hear that Wilson?" House called out to the inert form on the back seat. "The Professor thinks I don't love you. He thinks vampires are incapable. We're going to have to prove him wrong. You and I are going to show him what vampire love really is."

House smiled, exposing his fangs, an aggressive gesture among vampires.

The Professor smiled back. He could already tell that his new apprentice wasn't going to be easy to teach, but he relished a challenge. He might have to kill House eventually, but at least he wouldn't be boring.


	2. In Darkness

In Darkness

Wilson knew that he was dead. He had to be dead because there was no possible way that he could have survived, trussed up so tightly that he couldn't move, and confined in an airless coffin. How could it be then that he still thought, that he still felt the darkness pressing down on him with an almost physical weight? It was impossible; it defied all natural laws.

Thinking about his situation made him feel panicky and confused and lost, so Wilson concentrated on staying awake. He made lists – every woman he had ever kissed, the bones of the human body, Alfred Hitchcock movies – grounding himself with the mundane details of a life that was already over.

When House finally removed the lid of the coffin after fifteen seemingly endless hours, Wilson struggled weakly against the shroud that bound him, but the effects of House's bite hadn't completely worn off. House tore the shroud from Wilson's face and looked down on him. Although the room was lit only by a single candle, Wilson's eyes were acutely sensitive to light. He blinked, and House smiled at this sign of life.

"Is he dead?" asked a bored voice, and Wilson knew that it must be the other vampire, the one who had initiated House. He remembered what House had called him – the Professor of Esoteric Medicine.

House didn't answer. He was busy tearing Wilson's shroud. Wilson's paralysis was lifting, and he was able to help. House leaned down and kissed Wilson, and Wilson responded passionately, clinging to the vampire who had killed him, because he was the only thing in this strange new reality that Wilson recognized. Wilson sat up, and then stood, shaky at first but growing stronger by the second.

"Am I changed?" Wilson asked. "Am I like you?"

"Yes," House said. "You're perfect."

--------------------------------

The Professor was impatient to get on the road. He was heading for Las Vegas, a city that could have been created specifically for vampires, with its nocturnal and transient population of tourists and drifters. Wilson was wearing only the t-shirt and pyjama bottoms from the night before so House convinced the Professor to delay their departure for a few more minutes, long enough to stop by Wilson's house so that he could change clothes and pack a few things.

"No personal items," House ordered. "Nothing distinctive that could identify you."

Wilson nodded, and entered his house for the last time. The door was unlocked. He headed to the bedroom, took out a small overnight case and began packing methodically, as if he were merely going away for a short trip. He peeled off the clothes he was wearing and tossed them into the laundry hamper. He wanted to take a shower, but he hesitated at the door to the bathroom. Then he opened the door, turned on the hot water, and quickly backed out of the room. He avoided looking directly in the bathroom mirror. He waited until the bathroom was so steamy that he could barely see his own hand in front of his face and the mirror had fogged over entirely, before he went back in to shower.

Wilson dressed quickly and didn't take the time to dry his hair. He picked up the overnight bag, and headed for the door, then paused. He went quickly to his hall closet, took out a photograph album and stuffed it in the bottom of the bag.

--------------------------

The Professor drove a twenty-year old luxury sedan. He kept to back roads and empty two-lane highways, and he drove very fast for the winter roads, at a speed that would be foolhardy for anyone without a vampire's reflexes. Being on the road soothed him. House sat beside him on the front seat with Wilson in the back. The Professor talked to his apprentice as he drove, obviously enjoying his role as teacher and expert.

"The nature of the transformation is basically biochemical," the Professor lectured. "I've analyzed my own saliva, and I've isolated the chemical that calms the victim and slows down his heart and lungs. I hope to discover the substance that brings about the metamorphosis from human to vampire soon. I've found several promising chemical compounds."

Wilson remembered what he had seen in the bathroom mirror out of the corner of his eye – a swirl of darkness where his reflection should have been. That phenomenon hadn't been 'biochemical'. He wanted to protest that the Professor's view was too narrow and that there had to be a supernatural component to his metamorphosis. However, he'd already learned that vampire relationships were feudal in their emphasis on hierarchy and place. House, as the Professor's chosen apprentice, might disagree with him on occasion, but not Wilson. The Professor regarded him as House's servant.

"Is the metamorphic agent always secreted every time a vampire bites," House asked, "or is it only present when he bites with the intention of initiating his prey?"

"That's an interesting question, and one I can't answer yet."

Wilson shut his eyes and dozed, and the miles flew past.

-------------------

They stopped at a rundown motel a few hours before dawn. The place was desperate enough for business that the proprietor didn't complain about being woken at four in the morning or ask for a credit card.

Wilson grabbed the bags from the trunk. House took out a couple of boxes of aluminum foil and rolls of duct tape and added them to Wilson's load.

"Have you suddenly lost the ability to carry anything?" Wilson asked, annoyed.

House slapped him hard, his talon-like fingernails raking Wilson's face. Wilson stumbled and almost dropped the bags, although he was more surprised than hurt. He looked up at House, whose teeth were bared aggressively. Behind him, the Professor watched, arms folded, enjoying the brief eruption of violence immensely.

Wilson didn't say a word. He left the Professor's bag, a box of foil and a roll of tape outside the door of his room, and then carried the rest to the room he and House would be sharing. Wilson busied himself covering the windows of the room with aluminum foil and tried not to think about what just happened.

The room was furnished with a single sagging bed covered by a stained coverlet and an ancient television balanced atop a chest of drawers. Everything was covered with dust, and the bathroom didn't bear thinking about. When Wilson was human, he wouldn't have entered a place like this without a gallon of Lysol and a thick pair of rubber gloves. His standards as a vampire were considerably lower.

The Professor and House were going hunting, but Wilson stayed behind. He wasn't physically ready for his first kill yet. He should have felt excluded because they didn't ask him to join them, but he was actually pleased to have some time to himself.

He pulled out his photo album and opened it to the first page. The photograph was a family portrait. James Wilson was a baby in his mother's arms. His father stood beside her, and his two brothers stood in front of their parents. Somehow, the photographer captured an image of perfect contentment. Wilson touched his mother's face through the plastic that covered the photograph. This photograph always used to make him smile, even though he knew that the image of happiness was an illusion, and that his family was no more perfect than anyone else's. He turned the pages and looked at the faces of friends and family, ex-wives and lovers, and wondered if any of these people meant anything to him anymore. He wondered whether he was capable of feeling anything at all.

He stuffed the album back into his bag and, when House returned, was innocently watching an infomercial on the motel room television. He could smell the blood on House. He knew that House's victim had been a young man, but didn't ask himself how he knew.

Wilson got up and fetched the duct tape. He sealed the gap between the door and its frame to prevent any sunlight from entering the room. He was down on his knees taping the bottom of the door when House abruptly pulled him up. House was elated from the kill, and he wanted to share his excitement with Wilson.

House kissed Wilson on the mouth, smearing blood against the newly-made vampire's face. He forced his tongue between Wilson's lips and Wilson could taste the young man's blood. It was thick and satisfying and delicious, but it was too rich for him. It made him feel sick. Wilson pushed House away, spat out the blood, and wiped his mouth.

House hit him again, but this time Wilson bared his teeth and seemed ready to fight back. House couldn't allow this insubordination. He launched himself at Wilson. Wilson kicked and punched and snapped, but House was naturally more aggressive than his friend, and his aggression gave him strength. He overpowered Wilson, pinning him to the filthy carpet. He stared into Wilson's eyes and grazed his sharp teeth against his carotid artery, nicking the delicate skin. His tongue licked at the droplet of blood that welled from the cut. He savoured it like a connoisseur enjoying a rare wine. Wilson struggled to escape his grip.

House opened his mouth wide and Wilson went still, transfixed by the sight of his sharp fangs. Wilson only shut his eyes when House lowered his head to bite. Instead of biting into the carotid, as Wilson had expected, he neatly pierced Wilson's earlobe. He sucked Wilson's blood and then kissed him, and Wilson opened his mouth this time and let House's tongue in, and he could taste his own blood. Wilson was crying now, tears of frustration and anger and humiliation, and the salt of his tears mixed with the sharp metallic tang of blood.

House released him and Wilson backed away. He couldn't stop crying and his wounded ear dripped blood. House came over and sat beside Wilson on the floor. He put his hand on Wilson's shoulder, and this time his touch was soft and caring. Wilson didn't resist as House gathered him into his arms. He didn't flinch as House licked his bleeding earlobe.

"You have to learn to obey," House said gently.

-----------------------------

Later, House undressed and climbed into bed and Wilson followed him. The cheap polyester sheets were slippery and cold against his skin. When House turned out the light, the darkness was absolute. This motel was so cheap it hasn't even supplied the usual clock radio to provide illumination, and Wilson had been very thorough at blocking out the sunlight. The darkness reminded Wilson of his ordeal in the coffin, and perhaps it had the same effect on House. They held each other and Wilson kissed House, grateful that he allowed him this comfort. He felt House hard against him, and he used his hands and his mouth to please him. He was nervous because he had never done this before with another man, and because his teeth were sharp and he was afraid of nicking House. House didn't seem to mind his clumsiness though.

Afterwards, House held him in his arms and Wilson relaxed, almost asleep. House nipped his earlobe again to wake him up, but this time it seemed a gesture of affection rather than a punishment.

"You taste so good," House murmured, kissing the nape of his neck. "Like innocence and sunshine. I wonder if you'll still taste so sweet after your first kill."

"You taste good too," Wilson said, his voice already heavy with sleep.

"We're not done yet. There's something else I want from you."

House pressed himself against Wilson, and Wilson knew what he wanted. He shook his head, though of course House couldn't see him, and he moved away from him. House reached for him before he could get out of bed. House could feel the younger vampire's tension and resistance, but his hold was firm and unyielding. House wanted obedience. He couldn't let Wilson refuse.

"Relax or this will hurt a lot more," House warned.

He pulled Wilson down on to the bed, nuzzling and kissing him, touching and stroking him, until he could feel the tension in his body ease slightly.

"I don't want to," Wilson protested. "I've never..."

Again, Wilson felt House's teeth graze against his neck.

"You're mine," House said. "You can't deny me anything."

------------------------

In the dark, Wilson couldn't tell whether his eyes were open or shut. House's arm was a dead weight against his chest. The other vampire was asleep, but Wilson was still awake. It had been hours. It had to be night by now. He tried to extricate himself without waking House, but he wasn't successful.

"What are you doing?" House asked, his voice sharp and disconcertingly alert.

"I want to see what time it is," Wilson replied. "I left my watch in the bathroom."

House rolled over, and Wilson got out of bed. He felt around the floor until he found his overnight bag and picked it up. He shut the door to the bathroom and turned on the light. He pulled a thin towel from the rack and threw it over the mirror above the sink.

Sitting on the cold dusty floor, back against the door, he pulled his photo album from the bottom of the bag. He leafed through the pages until he found the photograph he wanted. The occasion was a dinner held to honour Wilson for raising a hundred thousand dollars for cancer research. He'd invited House, knowing that he wouldn't come, but Cuddy had intervened on his behalf. She'd offered House a week off clinic duty if he would attend. Wilson had been so pleased and surprised to see him there. House must have made a joke, or maybe he had, because they were both laughing. Their friendship had been real. This photograph wasn't lying.

Except now House wasn't House any more. House wouldn't have done to him what the vampire did a few hours ago.

He wasn't Wilson either. He was going to kill someone soon, and the prospect should have horrified him, but it didn't. He was apprehensive, afraid that he might screw up the kill and embarrass himself in front of House and the Professor, but that was all. His conscience had died when he became a vampire.

House and the Professor shared a curiosity about the world. Maybe they could be content, spending their endless existence learning and experiencing new things. It didn't matter to them that their knowledge would never be shared or put to any use.

Wilson's focus in medicine had always been primarily practical rather than intellectual. He didn't think that solving scientific mysteries was going to be enough for him. The living Wilson, the real Wilson, had devoted his life to caring for people and making them happy. That was his purpose in life. This new Wilson didn't seem to have a purpose. People didn't matter to him anymore, now that he was no longer one of them. House didn't need him; he was obviously much better at being a vampire than Wilson was.

"Wilson," House called, and Wilson hurriedly returned the photo album to the bottom of his bag.

"Coming," he said, and he turned out the light and went to join House in the dark.


	3. First Kill

First Kill

House and Wilson were in the parking lot outside a Wal-Mart store. House couldn't have named the town they were in; it was just one of a string of forgotten and impoverished farming communities. They stood in an area of shadow on the edge of the lot, just beyond the bright lights. Anyone who stepped out of the light toward them would be at a disadvantage, because their eyes would not be adapted to the darkness.

Sleet beaded House's hair, and icy water dripped down the collar of his coat and puddled in his shoes. He'd hoped to make Wilson's first kill enjoyable and memorable, but neither the weather nor Wilson was co-operating.

"We could find the nearest hospital," Wilson argued, "and I could raid the blood bank, or maybe we could go to a farm where there are cows and horses and I could drink animal blood instead."

"Has to be human, has to be fresh," House said. "Don't you think I've asked the same questions? There are no loopholes or secret clauses that let vampires live without killing people."

"Maybe I could just drink a little from two or three people, not enough to kill any one of them."

"Haven't you been listening at all to what the Professor and I have been talking about? Vampires secrete a chemical that slows down the heart and lungs. The chemical kills the people we bite even when their blood loss is minor."

House could see that Wilson wanted to continue the argument, if only to put off the inevitable moment when he would have to make his first kill. He was trying House's patience. The older vampire bared his teeth slightly in annoyance, and Wilson backed away cautiously.

House reminded himself how difficult it had been for him to take that first bite. The Professor of Esoteric Medicine, the vampire who had initiated House, had been at his side, urging him forward, but he had still hesitated. The last time he had bitten anyone he had been about four years old. A lifetime of inhibiting the urge to bite wasn't easily overcome. Only the certainty that the Professor would kill him if he let him down had finally pushed House into taking that first bite. He wasn't sure that he would have been able to kill without the fear of his own death as motivation. He didn't think that the first kill would be any easier for Wilson than it had been for him.

Sympathetic understanding wouldn't do Wilson any good, however, and besides House's hoard of that particular commodity was meagre. He took a step toward Wilson and looked into the eyes, holding his gaze until Wilson was forced to look away. House rewarded this sign of submission with a kiss on the cheek, with just the gentlest touch of sharp teeth as a warning not to try his patience again. He rubbed his face against Wilson's. Stubble met stubble.

"You've stopped shaving," he whispered into Wilson's ear. "I like you clean shaven."

""I kept nicking myself when I tried to use a razor without being able to see myself in a mirror. I gave up."

House imagined himself licking those tiny cuts.

A droplet of ice water making its way down his neck brought House out of his reverie and back to the business at hand.

"When I convinced the Professor to let you join us, I had to promise him I'd kill you myself if you couldn't handle it. I don't want to kill you, especially after all I did to keep you with me, but I will if I have to. You have to prove that you're strong enough to be a vampire."

House knew he would never be able to follow through on his threat. He couldn't kill Wilson; he needed him too much. He was worried that Wilson might see though his empty words, and was reassured when he saw that the other vampire took him seriously. Wilson had always underestimated how much he meant to House.

"You'll take the first person that walks by us alone. Just convince him to take a few steps towards you, into the shadows, and you'll have him. It shouldn't be difficult. Vampires can be very persuasive."

House pointed to a young man wearing an IPod, a perfect victim because he was absorbed in his music and heedless of any potential dangers. Unfortunately, a woman pushing a stroller followed close behind him, and the moment was lost. Next came a group of giggling teenagers, and then a retired couple a few minutes later.

The vampires were soaked to the skin by the time an unaccompanied person finally emerged from the store. Their potential victim was middle-aged woman carrying two full shopping bags and a large purse. She was slightly overweight and had shoulder-length hair dyed an unconvincing blonde. As they watched, she put down one of the bags long enough to fish out her car keys from her coat pocket. She pressed the button to unlock her car door, and then picked up the bag again. House noted which car was hers – a mid-sized sedan with a dented rear bumper.

House pushed Wilson forward as the woman approached. The movement attracted the woman's attention. She glanced quickly toward Wilson, who was standing about fifteen feet away. Quickly determining that this mild-looking man didn't pose any immediate threat, she continued on her way.

"Excuse me," Wilson said, "I'm unfamiliar with this area and I'm lost. Can you tell me how to get back to the main road?"

Wilson took another few steps toward her. He looked slightly embarrassed at having to ask for help. The woman stopped to speak to him but still maintained a cautious distance.

"If you head down the road about a half mile, you'll come to a stop sign. Turn left and go about another quarter mile. There's a sign just before the turnoff, but it's easy to miss it in the dark. If you go over a bridge, you've gone too far."

"Thanks very much," Wilson said, smiling warmly at her.

She smiled back, looking directly into his dark brown eyes for the first time. At that instant, she was caught.

Wilson moved toward her slowly, careful not to startle her. He reached out and took the bags and the purse from her hand, placing them in a neat pile on the ground, never taking his eyes away from her. Wilson reached out and took her hands in his. Slowly, step by step, he led her towards the darkness. She followed him trustingly.

"I promise this will only hurt for a second," Wilson murmured, in the soft tones of a mother soothing her child, "and I won't leave you until it's over. I'll hold you in my arms, and you won't be afraid at all. It will be peaceful and painless and I'll remember you forever. You'll always be special to me."

Wilson had almost reached the shadows at the edge of the parking lot when the woman slipped on the icy surface of the parking lot. She looked down, trying to maintain her balance. As soon as she broke eye contact, Wilson's control over his intended victim vanished. The blonde woman turned to run away, but Wilson grabbed her. He had his hand over her mouth before she could scream. He dragged her the last few feet into the shadows.

The woman struggled against him, her arms and legs striking out desperately. She bit down hard on the hand that covered her mouth, but Wilson hardly noticed.

House resisted his impulse to intervene. Wilson's first kill had to be entirely his own.

Wilson finally pulled her down to the ground and restrained her flailing limbs. He tried to calm her, uttering meaningless phrases meant to reassure.

"Please, please," Wilson crooned. "Don't be afraid. I don't want this to hurt you any more than it has to. Please, don't make this any worse."

Wilson opened his mouth wide, exposing his fangs, and her struggles stopped for a second as she reacted with shock. Wilson bit her, intending to hit the jugular vein or the carotid artery, but she moved at the last second, and he missed his mark. She renewed her resistance, but Wilson was oblivious. He had tasted her blood, which suddenly seemed to be everything he had ever wanted in his life. He no longer cared about his victim's pain and distress; all her cared about was getting more, letting the blood fill him as nothing ever had before.

He bit down again and this time he hit the carotid. Blood spurted into his mouth, almost choking him. He gulped it down greedily. Wilson shut his eyes, blanking out everything except the taste of her blood and the feel of her warmth becoming his. His victim was not struggling any more, and he rocked her gently in his arms as he fed.

House put his hand on Wilson's shoulder and sat down beside him. Wilson released his bite, and his dying victim groaned. Blood burbled from the wound on her neck. Wilson smoothed her hair and kissed her gently on the forehead.

House shoved Wilson out of the way, claiming his right to a share of Wilson's kill. House was still full from the young man he had drained the previous night, so he drank no more than a mouthful of her blood. Wilson continued to hold the woman. He'd promised to stay with her until the end. He rested her head on his lap. With professional skill, he felt for a pulse and looked into her glassy eyes.

House got to his feet. He went to retrieve her shopping bags and her purse. Her bags were full of useless groceries, but there was money in her wallet. Only twenty five dollars, which would not even fill up the Professor's car or pay for a stay at another cheap motel. House cursed the credit card economy, which made vampires' lives so difficult.

"Here," he said, putting the money in Wilson's hand. "You can put this towards the purchase of a good electric shaver."

Wilson seemed hardly to notice him. House wanted to slap him to get his attention, but resisted the urge, remembering his intention of making Wilson's first time perfect.

"Her name was Anna," House said, looking at the driver's license he had found in her wallet.

"Who?" Wilson asked.

"This woman you've promised to remember always. Her name was Anna."

Wilson nodded.

"Her death was terrible but it was wonderful too," Wilson said. "She gave me her life. It was a gift from her to me."

"She didn't _give_ you her life," House said. "You took it. You killed her."

House almost laughed. Wilson was so out of touch with his true nature as a vampire. He found his friend's insistence on sentimentalizing the harsher aspects of existence both amusing and irritating. He grabbed Wilson's hand and pulled him to his feet.

Wilson looked down at his first victim. Sleet and frozen rain covered her clothes. He leaned down to close her eyelids.

"Help me look for her car keys," House said. "We'll put her in the trunk of her car. With luck, we'll be long gone before she's found."

He took Anna's cellphone from her purse, and used it to call the Professor.

--------------------

House found the keys, half-buried in the slush. He looked around to see that they were not being observed and then picked Anna up and carried her to the trunk of her car.

"Get her bags and her purse," he instructed Wilson, but Wilson didn't appear to hear him. The younger vampire seemed dazed by the experience of his first kill. He was scarcely able to stand on his own, and leaned against a parked car for support.

Cursing, House picked up Anna's things himself, and dumped them into the trunk on top of her. He slammed down the trunk. He strode over to Wilson and hit him hard enough to knock him to the ground.

"Get a hold of yourself," he said roughly. "The Professor will be here to pick us up in ten minutes. Do you want him to think you're weak?"

"Why should I care what the Professor thinks? He doesn't scare me. He's named after someone on Gilligan's Island, for God's sake."

House ignored Wilson's childish words and petulant tone and went to help him up. Wilson refused to take his hand, but he was too dizzy to get up on his own, so he sat in the slush waiting for his light-headedness to pass.

"Do you want me to have to hurt you? Is that what you want? So you can be punished for what you did to Anna?"

Wilson didn't answer, but House knew that he was right.

"You don't really feel any guilt," House said. "You just think that you should feel guilty. You're pretending to be human. You tell yourself you're still Dr. James Wilson, dedicated oncologist and all-around nice guy.

You're kidding yourself. You aren't a nice guy. You're a vampire. You knew when you decided to join me that killing was part of the deal."

"I didn't decide," Wilson protested. "You persuaded me! Vampires can persuade humans to do just about anything. Look at the way that I persuaded that poor woman to follow me to her death."

"So I'm the evil corruptor and you're the injured innocent. You can't really believe that! Even you can't be quite that deluded!"

There was a moment of silence as House waited for Wilson to respond. When he didn't, House took a step towards the other vampire. Wilson regarded him warily, anticipating another blow, but House didn't seem angry anymore.

"Do you regret your decision? Would you really rather be dead than be with me?"

To Wilson's surprise, House sounded genuinely hurt.

"Of course not," Wilson said quickly. Wilson hated to see House unhappy.

This time, when House held out his hand, Wilson took it and let House pull him to his feet. House gathered Wilson into his arms, and Wilson lifted his head, exposing himself to attack where he was most vulnerable. House opened his mouth wide and pressed his fangs against Wilson's neck, increasing the pressure gradually until he almost broke the skin. Wilson did not move or try to defend himself in any way, demonstrating to the other vampire just how much he loved and trusted him. After a moment, House let him go. He pressed his lips against Wilson's, and felt Wilson relax into his embrace.

-----------------

House sat in the back seat of the Professor's car with Wilson. Wilson leaned against House, eyes half-shut with post-prandial sleepiness. House nipped his earlobe, relishing the feel of the baby soft flesh between his teeth, and Wilson looked up at him.

"Am I still sweet?" he asked, unashamedly fishing for compliments.

"As delicious as ever," House replied, licking his ear, "your first kill hasn't changed you at all."

House had slighted the Professor by sitting in the back with Wilson, and he knew that the more powerful vampire would make him pay for his insubordination. However, having Wilson at his side, trustful and obedient and happy, was worth any punishment the Professor could devise.

The Professor turned around to berate his pupil. Seeing House and his servant together evoked vague and distant memories and feelings he didn't care to examine.

"Is your servant's blood really so good?" he asked.

"Wilson tastes like no one else. Everyone else is soy burger and he's filet mignon."

"Maybe I should get a taste then," the Professor said.

His words were said in a jocular tone, but House saw the malicious gleam in his eye and knew that the vampire was serious. He wanted House to share Wilson, but House wasn't willing to share. Wilson belonged to him and him alone. House bared his teeth, and the Professor smiled, showing his own fangs. He challenged House, staring directly into his eyes, daring the vampire he had initiated to make his move.

Wilson froze, sensing the sudden surge of aggression. Caught between two powerful and aggressive vampires was the last place anyone sensible would want to be.

After a long silence, House dropped his eyes. House got out of the back seat of the car and took his usual place up front next to the Professor. The Professor waited a moment for House to speak, and when he remained silent, he turned the key to the ignition.

Wilson sighed in relief, thankful that an open confrontation had been avoided.

"I will always remember my first kill as a vampire," the Professor said in his lecture voice. "He deserved to die because he had spoken ill of my son, and although my son was worthless, we shared the same name, so an insult to him reflected on me and on my honour. I could not forgive an insult to my honour any more than I could forgive the defiance of a natural inferior..."

No one could complain that the Professor was over-subtle. As he described the slow and painful death of the man who had failed to show him the proper respect, House nodded and tried to look repentant about his own small act of rebellion. He lowered his eyes to conceal the anger he felt.

The Professor seemed to be buying his humble act, but Wilson wasn't. He reached forward and touched House's shoulder, making him turn around.

'Be careful," Wilson mouthed silently.

House nodded and turned away. He fixed his gaze on the empty road in front of him and let his thoughts run free.


	4. Code of Honour

**Disclaimer:**House and Wilson are the property of David Shore et al. Not mine.

Code of Honour

Wilson sometimes seemed unsure about whether he was a man or a vampire. Even after a month, he still looked distressed whenever he passed by a reflective surface that didn't show him his image, and he was hesitant about killing. House still had to be there to push him into action and to praise and comfort him afterwards. House felt like a mother coaxing a fussy toddler to eat his vegetables, but he'd decided that watching Wilson starve himself would be even more tedious.

House wasn't at all confused about who he was. House was a vampire. He was at the absolute top of the food chain. He was master of all he surveyed, or at least he would be, if it were not the powerful vampire who had called himself the Professor of Esoteric Medicine.

To the human eye, the Professor didn't look very formidable. He was an old man, wrinkled and frail, and his skin was pale as if he spent too much time indoors. Vampires saw things differently though. House saw the Professor's indomitable will to survive and the pleasure he took in forcing others to do his bidding. The Professor demanded obedience and respect from House, who was his apprentice. The old vampire wasn't wise, but he was experienced and cunning, which were almost as good. In a vampire, attitude and innate aggression counted for more than muscle. If it came to a fight with him, House would probably lose.

The three of them had made their way across country to Las Vegas. The car trip had been claustrophobic. It had reminded House of childhood vacations, stuck in the back seat of his father's car, while the old man bypassed all the interesting sights (World's Biggest Ball of Yarn, See the Three-Headed Calf) in favour of boring war monuments and museums. Then there had been the days spent in dismal motels, prisoners of sunlight, trapped until nightfall. Of course, he and Wilson had found ways to pass the time.

---------------------

Plundered. That was the word. James Wilson had been plundered. Every inch of him explored and claimed. Every thought in his mind, every cell in his body, belonged to Gregory House, vampire, and Wilson wasn't allowed to forget it.

First it was pain, and then it was pleasure, and now he could hardly tell the difference. House's razor sharp fangs bit into the muscles of his shoulder, holding him in place. They cut into him when he moved and little rivulets of blood flowed down his torso and spattered on the sheets. House's sharp fingernails dug into his flesh, and he pushed again, hard, and Wilson had to bite his own tongue to avoid crying out. Silence was the rule this time, and if Wilson broke the rule, he would be punished. Worse.

When House pulled out, when he finally _relented_, Wilson collapsed, trembling on to the bed. Wilson was crying, but he didn't forget the rule. He cried silently, except every once in a while there was a stifled gasp when he was sobbing too hard and needed to catch his breath.

Wilson rolled onto his back. House was watching him, leaning on one elbow, his expression unreadable. Wilson hated him at that moment, just for the way House looked at him - the way his gaze assumed that he owned Wilson body and soul (assuming he still had a soul). Wilson would gladly have ripped him to pieces, but Wilson knew House was stronger and more aggressive than he was. Wilson couldn't stand that impassive stare and turned away, pulling up the blanket to cover himself, but House didn't want that. He pulled the blanket down, so Wilson was naked and exposed. He forced Wilson to look into his eyes. Wilson's hands were balled into tight defensive fists and he tried to look away, and House displayed his fangs, which were still stained with Wilson's blood. He held Wilson's gaze steadily and bore down on top of him, looking for any further signs of defiance.

Wilson looked up into House's face, stubbornly determined that this time he would win this ridiculous staring contest. He lasted less than a minute. It was his own sense of the absurdity of the situation rather than his fear of House which finally defeated him. House was staring into his eyes like a cheesy stage hypnotist, and both of them were naked as the day they were born, and bodies without clothes were kind of comical really especially as seen from this angle, and he was getting chilly, and when was House going to give up? Wilson felt himself beginning to laugh which was _not _a good idea, because vampires take themselves very seriously, especially when they are playing their little status games. (Wilson put House and the Professor in the category of vampire but still mentally excluded himself.) To stop himself from laughing, Wilson looked away from House and let his tense muscles relax, and he lost the battle again.

House kissed him on the lips, and Wilson knew that this was his reward for submission – a tiny sliver of affection and a brief pretence of equality. It would not have been adequate compensation if he were a man, but, of course, he wasn't. Wilson was a vampire, whether he admitted it or not, and his emotions were like bolts of lightning. They were powerful, immediate and intense, but then they were gone, leaving only the faintest afterglow behind. House licked Wilson's wounds, and Wilson soon forgot that House was the one that inflicted them. House kissed him, held him and stroked him, and Wilson almost purred, shameless in his enjoyment of House's caresses.

"Promise me you won't flirt with any more gas station attendants, and I'll let you speak."

"I wasn't flirting with her!"

House nipped him on the earlobe playfully.

"Promise first; then you can talk. Not before."

"I promise not to flirt," Wilson said, "but I wasn't flirting," he added under his breath.

House nipped him again. He pulled the blanket up to cover Wilson, and the other vampire rolled over and closed his eyes. Wilson felt House's lips against the nape of his neck as he fell asleep.

House closed his eyes too but he couldn't get to sleep. Having Wilson there, sleeping like a baby, was irritating when House couldn't rest. He resisted the momentary urge to wake him up and send back to his own room. Instead, he got out of bed, pulled on a pair of pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt, and left the bedroom.

House and Wilson were living in the Professor's house outside Las Vegas. The Professor had had the house built to his specification years ago, and it was well-adapted to the needs of vampires. Shutters on the inside of the windows at the side and rear of the house blocked out daylight. There was a deep, wide porch at the front of the house, which the Professor had designed so that it protected the large picture window there from direct sunlight all year round. The Professor could sit in his front room and look out into the sunlit world that's only a few steps away. He could even sit on the porch and feel the early morning breeze in perfect safety. The Professor had bought acres of desert when the land was cheap, so there were no other houses nearby.

House found the professor looking out this window.

"I never tire of this view," the Professor said. "The desert has so many moods."

"I like greenery," House said, shrugging. "Grass and trees beat bare rock."

He headed towards the living room to watch television. The Professor's television was a relic and only picked up two channels, sometimes three if the conditions were right. (House planned to introduce him to satellite t.v. and the wonders of the 500 channel universe as soon as possible.) There were only two channels available that day, and one of them was showing a test pattern. The other had a lithe young woman demonstrating yoga positions. House was watching Downward Facing Dog, when the Professor entered the room, and House almost cursed. He'd listened to the Professor talk all night, tolerating his reminisces and opinions in order to glean a few useful facts about vampire life. The last thing he needed was another long rambling story about how the Professor had tortured some unfortunate person who had looked at him the wrong way.

The yoga teacher on screen had switched from Downward Facing Dog to Tree Pose, which House found a lot less interesting to watch, so he abruptly rose from his seat to turn off the television. The Professor's television was so ancient that it didn't have a remote.

"Your servant is asleep?"

"Yes."

"He's not selfish enough for our kind of life. A vampire has to be selfish," the Professor said. "I knew that you would make a good vampire fifteen minutes into our first conversation. All that intellectual arrogance, all that selfishness – I knew you would be ideal."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence – or no thanks for the insult – I'm not sure which."

"Looking after him is distracting you," the Professor said. "It may become necessary to get rid of him. As your teacher, I can't allow you to lose focus."

"You agreed to let me have Wilson."

The Professor nodded. "That's why I'm talking to you rather than killing him myself. I'm giving you a chance to deal with him."

"I'm not going to kill him."

"It's a sentimental impulse to cling to souvenirs from the lives we had before. Only the weak give in to sentiment."

House did not respond.

"Fine. I've done my best to make you see sense.

If that is your decision, you should share him. It's not right that you should keep something you value all to yourself. What belongs to the apprentice belongs to his master. We used to have a saying when I was young: the apprentice goes hungry until his master is fed."

"We had an expression when I was young, too: hand's off!"

The Professor laughed mirthlessly.

"I've lived up to my end of the apprenticeship contract," House said. "If honour is as important to you as you keep telling me, you'll live up to your end of the bargain. So far I haven't been very impressed with your teachings. Aside from a few tidbits about biochemistry, which I could have figured out myself, you've given me nothing. I want useful information, not stories about thousand-year-old blood feuds! "

"I have a philosophy to offer you! Insights into the world that only someone who has lived for more than eight hundred years can offer you. All you want is trivia."

"I understand your philosophy. It's not that difficult. You're the big dog and you get to bite everyone else. Western Civilization has been going downhill ever since the Renaissance, and abolishing slavery was a mistake. Am I leaving anything out?"

"You owe me your respect. I should kill you for speaking to me that way."

"I don't think you're going to," House said. 'While we were on our tour of America's worst hotels, motels, and inns, I had some time to think about things. What were you doing a cross-country lecture tour when you have a perfectly good home here? I don't think it was for the scenery and I know it wasn't for the money. You were desperate to find someone to talk to so you went out to find a new apprentice. You need me because you're going mad from boredom."

The Professor looked at House, deciding whether or not to kill him. His posture was deceptively relaxed and his expression was blank. After a long silence, he seemed to come to a decision and left the room without saying a word. House sank back down into the sofa in relief.

----------------

Wilson had a perfectly good bedroom of his own - a windowless walk-in closet next to the laundry room - but the Professor knew that he usually slept in House's bed. This was another example of House's over-indulgence. House could use his servant as he wanted, but he ought to dismiss him immediately after.

House kept a light on in the corridor outside his bedroom, so that the room would not be perfectly dark. The Professor wondered whether that was a concession to Wilson's fear or whether House himself was uncomfortable with total darkness. He knew it was not at all uncommon for vampires to fear the dark. Several of his past apprentices had had the same phobia, and he had found that it was a useful tool for discipline.

The Professor opened the door to House's room. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of sex. He'd been celibate for more than a hundred years himself and didn't miss sex at all. The kill was so much more satisfying.

He looked at Wilson sleeping peacefully and was honestly puzzled. What did House see in this in-between thing, neither wholly man nor wholly vampire? For him, there was nothing more grotesque than a vampire who didn't know his true nature.

The servant was good-looking enough but not extraordinarily beautiful. The bushy eyebrows were an imperfection and his eyes weren't quite symmetrical enough. It had to be his blood that kept House interested. House had commented on how delicious it tasted; he said it was superior to anyone else's. The Professor could smell Wilson's blood on the sheets, intermingled with the odours of sweat and semen, but it was already dried and stale. Blood had to be fresh and flowing.

The Professor was tempted to bite, but he lived by a code of honour. Wilson belonged to House, and he could not steal from another vampire. House would have to give him his permission before the Professor could indulge his appetite. Or the Professor could kill House and take Wilson for himself. His code permitted either option.

The Professor licked the face of the sleeping vampire, tasting the salt of tears and sweat, and left the room.


	5. Nights in Las Vegas

Nights in Las Vegas

The first time was in the laundry room. Wilson was the only one who used the washing machine because he was the only one who still cared about human standards of hygiene. He had just done a load of whites – underwear and sheets and towels – when the Professor came into the room. Wilson was quite aware that the Professor regarded him as a failure as a vampire and a needless distraction from House's studies. The Professor wanted him gone, preferably dead, but he couldn't kill Wilson himself because he had given his word to his apprentice.

Wilson didn't feel comfortable, knowing that the Professor wanted to kill him and had the power to do it, and that all Wilson had to thank for his continued existence was the Professor's dubious code of honour. He kept a cautious distance, and put the load of newly washed clothes he was carrying on top of the washer, ready to give the Professor his respectful attention. The Professor came closer and Wilson automatically took one step back and then another.

Wilson's eyes were lowered, since the Professor would regard direct eye contact from an inferior as an intolerable offense. His voice was carefully neutral. Wilson was wary, but not yet afraid.

"Are you looking for House? I think he's in his room."

"If I were looking for House, I wouldn't look here," the Professor said.

He took another step closer and now he was only inches away and Wilson was backed up against the laundry room wall. He reached out and put his pale white hand on Wilson's shoulder, an apparently friendly gesture that made Wilson shudder involuntarily. The Professor could feel him shudder, of course, and he smiled. The smile too seemed almost friendly, though there was just a hint of tooth and fang.

"Do you want me to do your laundry?"

Wilson's voice sounded false even to his own ears. He was trying to pretend that everything was normal and he was not afraid, but he couldn't quite manage it. He sounded too ingratiating, too desperate.

The Professor didn't bother to answer. The weight of his hand on Wilson's shoulder was heavy, pinning him against the wall. With his other hand, he stroked Wilson's cheek. The Professor's nails were long and sharp, like the talons of some ferocious prehistoric bird. He explored Wilson's face, the nails casually brushing against the delicate skin underneath his eyes, one long skinny nail running along his lips and then parting them slightly. He leaned forward, and his full weight bore against Wilson's body. Belatedly, Wilson tried to break free but the other vampire was very strong. The Professor smiled, fully exposing his fangs, and Wilson realized he was enjoying Wilson's futile efforts to escape. They excited him. Wilson held himself still.

The razor sharp nails of one hand exerted a steady pressure against the artery of his neck, while the other hand explored. With surgical precision, he cut the threads holding the buttons of Wilson's shirt. One sharp nail circled Wilson's nipple.

"Why aren't you calling out to House for help? I think you must like this."

He ran the nails of this free hand down the length of Wilson's torso, hard enough to leave raised red marks but not quite hard enough to break the skin. Wilson gasped and flinched when the Professor's hand burrowed beneath the waistband of his pants. In response, the Professor increased the pressure against Wilson's neck.

Satisfied that he now has Wilson's full attention, the Professor took a step back, and allowed the younger vampire a chance to catch his breath. Wilson staggered, coughing soundlessly. Wilson was relieved, thinking that the Professor was done with him, but the old vampire hadn't finished yet. He ordered Wilson to undress, and Wilson complied, hoping that this gesture of obedience, this humiliation, would be enough to satisfy the older vampire. The Professor gripped Wilson's scrotum in a hand like a fistful of razor blades and leaned in close, pressing his lips against Wilson's so that he could feel the Professor's fangs bruising his flesh.

"I could hurt you. I could make you bleed, but I won't because I am honourable and I've given House my word," the Professor said. "While House lives, I'll keep my promise to him, until he releases me from it."

The Professor turned around and left the room, and Wilson sank to the floor.

----------------------

House came looking for Wilson forty-five minutes later. House opened the door to the laundry room, and Wilson looked up. House saw a quick glimmer of fear in his friend's eyes before Wilson looked down again. Wilson was sitting in the corner, half naked, hugging himself. A load of wet laundry was piled on top of the washer.

"What's the matter?" House asked.

Wilson didn't answer, so House tried again, this time speaking gently and softly.

"Did the Professor hurt you?"

Wilson shook his head violently and House came closer. He put out his hand to help Wilson to his feet, but Wilson moved away, evading his touch. House realized that he was looming over Wilson, intimidating him, so he sat down a few feet away so he could speak to him at his own level. He looked away, staring at the pile of sheets and towels, until Wilson seemed calmer.

"Did he rape you?"

This time Wilson found his voice.

"No, of course not; nothing happened," he said, "Nothing important. The Professor frightened me a bit; that's all. I know I'm over-reacting. I get nervy when I go too long without feeding."

House knew Wilson was being evasive. Something serious had happened in this room – something between the Professor and Wilson - but he couldn't trust either of them to give him an honest account. The Professor was an evil old bastard, and Wilson lied constantly, usually to protect other people or for some other equally inane reason. Normally House would have persisted with Wilson until the sheer annoyance factor of his repeated questions and speculations forced him to reveal whatever was bothering him, but this time even House could recognize that Wilson was just too upset.

"Okay," House said, pretending to believe him.

"I've got to finish the laundry," Wilson said, getting to his feet. "I've got to pin the laundry up to dry. I put them out on the clothesline just before dawn and then take them down first thing at night."

"Too late. The sun's already up."

He stood up as well, and noticed that Wilson immediately edged away.

"Anyway, I just came to get you. It's time for bed."

"Right," said Wilson.

House headed for the door, but Wilson made no move to follow.

"You don't want to sleep in your room tonight, do you? All alone in the dark in that little closet, and if the door opens it could be anyone. You're safer with me than you are by yourself."

Wilson looked sick, but at least his words had the desired effect. Wilson followed him back to his bedroom.

-----------------------------------

After that, there were other incidents, though none of them was quite as bad as the first, because at least Wilson knew what to expect. He tried to avoid the Professor as much as possible, which also meant avoiding House, since the apprentice spent much of his time in the Professor's company. He couldn't tell House what was happening, since he would probably want to confront the Professor, and Wilson didn't want to be responsible for House's death.

Wilson had always found the kill difficult, but before the Professor's harassment he had begun to hunt for himself, without House's supervision and support. Now that he felt constantly threatened, the progress he had made disappeared. He just couldn't bring himself to bite into another living being. He would convince himself that he would do it, but at the last moment he would hesitate. Wilson became gaunt. There were dark circles under his eyes, and he was always cold. He piled on layer after layer of clothing, but he never got any warmer, because the cold came from inside. He needed blood to warm him. He shivered all the time, and his nerves felt strained and tight.

Wilson was lying on his cot in his own tiny, stuffy bedroom trying to read a book from the Professor's meagre collection. It was a three-volume Victorian novel by an author Wilson had never heard of, and it was hard slogging. Wilson would read a paragraph, and then he would lose his place and realize he had no idea of what he had just read, and he would have to start over. The brilliance of the forty-watt bulb in his bedroom ceiling was almost too much for his sensitive eyes to bear, and the feeling of the shirt collar rubbing against his skin irritated him beyond endurance.

House opened Wilson's door without knocking. When Wilson looked up and saw House, his initial fear turned into displeasure. Wilson knew that House would want sex or conversation, and he did not feel capable of either at the moment. If he were a human, he would say he had a migraine or the flu, and House would eventually have to leave, but he wasn't human, and vampires don't get sick, so he had no excuse. Pretty soon, House would begin to talk, and Wilson dreaded the sound of his voice (anyone's voice, really) and if House actually wanted to touch him...Wilson fought down a wave of nausea. As House crossed the threshold, Wilson unconsciously backed away from him, baring his fangs.

House wouldn't tolerate any aggressive displays from Wilson. The vampire he had initiated was supposed to be respectful and obedient. He showed his own fangs, and this time Wilson looked down, properly submissive. Too submissive.

"Wilson," said House in a deliberately loud voice. The other vampire winced, confirming House's suspicions. "When did you last go hunting?"

"Three days ago. We all went into town. You remember."

"Did you actually make a kill that night though?"

"I don't think so. I didn't have very good luck. First there was a pregnant woman, so I let her go by, and then a teenager, and he was too young. Then there was an old man, and he had an oxygen tank and was riding a scooter, and I thought he'll just drop dead before I can even bite, so there was no point."

"So how long since you've last fed?"

"I don't know. A couple of weeks."

"Uh huh," said House sceptically. "I'd say at least three. You told me you could hunt by yourself. You said I didn't need to babysit you anymore. You were lying.

What have I told you about feeding regularly? You've starved yourself until you're half-crazed. I bet if I touched you, you'd try to take my hand off. You're no better than a werewolf. You're sleeping on the floor today."

---------------------------

Only the Professor was allowed to drive his car, so he drove House and Wilson into the city, and turned around to go home. He was not pleased with the disruption of his schedule, and he told House curtly that he would be coming to pick House up at two-thirty in front of the Luxor, and if House and Wilson were not waiting for him there, he would turn around and leave without them.

House had decided that he would kill first, just to show Wilson how quick and easy it was. He looked toward the other vampire and sighed. The essence of the vampire's hunt is stealth. A vampire blends into the shadows. Wilson's eccentric attire, however, was drawing curious glances from passing tourists. He was wearing four t-shirts, his McGill sweatshirt, his own cloth jacket and House's leather jacket (borrowed without permission). He was also wearing sunglasses to protect his eyes from the bright lights of the Strip, although judging by the way he was peering out at the world through his fingers, they were not enough.

House walked at a brisk pace, heading for the poorly-lit employee parking lot of one of the bigger resorts. Wilson tried to follow, but the sea of tourists, which parted obligingly for House, buffeted him as it ebbed and flowed. He lost sight of House. He barged through a group of conventioneers, all wearing matching red blazers and name tags, hoping to see House just ahead, but he was long gone. The smell of the crowd was maddening, making him feel ferociously hungry and then desperately ill. The sounds of traffic and the chatter of passers-by assaulted his ears. Suddenly getting away from the crowd seemed much more important to him than finding House. He sat down on the sidewalk, back against the wall of a building. He shut his eyes and buried his head in his arms, trying to escape the barrage on his senses. He fought a surge of panic.

"Wuss," said House. "I thought vampires were supposed to be fearless."

"Fearless vampire hunters," Wilson corrected, "not fearless vampires."

"Maybe I'd feel more sympathetic if your misery weren't self-inflicted and if you weren't being such a pain in the ass. Besides I don't remember you being particularly kind when I was going through withdrawal."

"I'm sick."

House shook his head, even though Wilson's eyes were closed and he couldn't see him.

"Vampires don't get sick. We're immune to disease. Your body craves blood and it's going to make you more and more miserable until you give it what it wants."

House sighed in a way meant to communicate to Wilson just how patient and long-suffering he was being.

"What's bothering you more – the crowds or the lights?"

"The lights."

"Keep your eyes shut then. Take my arm and I'll lead you. Only this time, keep up!"

------------

The woman House killed was a croupier, still wearing the livery of the hotel where she worked. House grabbed her, dragged her into the darkness, and plunged his fangs into her neck before she had time to realize what was happening to her. It was a merciful death because she had no time to be afraid or to be in pain. Wilson wanted to be able to kill like House, but he knew that her death was kind only because House was swift and strong and never hesitated.

The scent of her blood drew Wilson near, and soon he was standing behind House, watching him feed. Wilson knelt down, and when House leaned back, he flinched at the physical contact, but did not move away. His cheek was against the nape of House's neck, and he felt the warmth of the dying woman spreading through the other vampire. He kissed House, and he thought he could taste her on House's skin. His freezing cold fingers burrowed underneath House's shirt, seeking the heat of his body. House was lost in the bliss of the kill, oblivious, and Wilson held him. As House fell back, sated, Wilson took advantage of House's vulnerable state to kiss him tenderly on the lips – a liberty House seldom allowed him. He delicately licked a bit of blood from the corner of House's lips.

House was coming to himself, and he was not pleased to find Wilson hovering over him solicitously. There was something too hungry in the other vampire's eyes. He pushed Wilson away and got to his feet abruptly, swaying slightly.

"Your turn next," he said.

----------------

Although the newspapers and the television newscasts had made no mention of a series of strange killings, House had no doubt that the vampires' activities had been noticed. It made sense for the authorities to want to cover up a string of strange deaths, especially in a city dependent on tourism, but that didn't mean that they were oblivious idiots. It would be pushing their luck, House thought, to kill two people in the same location on the same night. Instead he took Wilson to another site he had scouted earlier, a strip joint called the Booby Hatch. House took Wilson to an alley behind the bar.

"The patrons of this place prefer to use the alley in back rather than the men's room. Pretty soon, someone is going to come out the back door and head for this alley, and you are going to kill that person. I don't care whether it's an old man with an oxygen tank or a blind stripper with a Seeing Eye dog. You're going to bite. I am not accepting any excuses."

Wilson nodded, although he looked unhappy.

"I'm going into the bar. Maybe I'll get a lap dance. Don't disappoint me."

Left alone, Wilson shivered. His bones ached with cold. He crouched behind a dumpster, where the cool evening breeze could not reach him. A sudden blare of ugly and aggressive music told him that the door to the bar was opening. He stood up and watched his victim head toward his fate.

Wilson took a deep breath. The man that stepped through the doorway was taller than House and at least twice as wide. He had to weigh three hundred and fifty pounds, and most of that great mass was muscle. In the light of the bulb set above the backdoor, Wilson could see that he was wearing jeans and a dirty t-shirt, and that most of his visible skin was blue with tattoo ink.

----------

House took a seat near the stage. A waitress wearing a bikini top and bicycle shorts took his order for a beer; he had no intention of drinking it, but it was the price of a seat. A young woman wearing a g-string gyrated awkwardly around a pole. Her smile was an anxious grimace, and House looked away. There was nothing sexy about desperation. She should at least act as if she were enjoying herself. When the next performer wasn't any better – a blank-faced robot girl about as alluring a plastic Barbie doll – he got up and went out the door.

At the entrance to the alley, House stopped dead in his tracks. He could see Wilson walking up to an enormous man. At least House presumed he must be a man, though he looked more like something that lived under a bridge and spent its spare time harassing billy goats. Wilson held out his hand to shake and the man looked at his hand in puzzlement, as if this common courtesy was totally unknown to him. Wilson seemed to be talking to him, and finally the man put out his hand. Once Wilson had his hand, he seemed reluctant to let go. He backed up, away from the light above of the door, and the man came with him.

House walked into the alley, and Wilson spotted him out of the corner of his eye. His concentration almost broke; the huge man lifted his head and looked around him in confusion and anger. Wilson was able to regain control though. He ordered the giant to close his eyes, and still grasping his hand firmly, had him sit down next to the dumpster. Wilson stood over him, and now House was close enough to hear his words.

"I want you to feel happy. I want happiness to be your last memory."

"I feel happy," said the behemoth.

Wilson bit him.

------------

Wilson, House and the dead man were concealed behind the dumpster, out of sight of anyone leaving the Booby Hatch.

"I don't understand why you wanted him to be happy," House said, as he went through the man's pockets. "He was a fat neo-Nazi piece of scum. He had a swastika tattooed on his right arm, and 'Whites Rule OK' on the left."

Wilson was staring off in space, humming. He was always useless after a kill.

"I don't think you have a conscience any more than I do. You don't care about other people's happiness, because you're a vampire. We're not made that way."

"Do you think he had a good death?" Wilson asked, suddenly back in the same universe as House, if only temporarily.

"What do you mean 'good'? If you mean fitting, if you mean what he deserved..."

"No, I mean peaceful, no pain."

"Is that what you care about?"

Wilson nodded, and leaned back, staring up at the stars. As he was in brightly-lit Las Vegas, few were actually visible.

"Your concern has nothing to do with your victims," House said. "It's just about you. It's about you hating to see people suffer rather than about people suffering."

"I was an oncologist. I saw a lot of slow and painful deaths. More than my fair share. I don't want to see any more. I don't care if that's selfish. Besides, vampires are supposed to be selfish. You told me I wasn't selfish _enough_."

"That was before I spent an entire night of my life looking after you while you moaned and wailed every time a car honked its horn or someone turned on a light."

"What's one night when your life is endless, without an end, without a purpose..."

Wilson shut his eyes and seemed about to fall asleep on the pavement. House swore, and Wilson's eyes opened.

"Look at this. It's a gun."

Wilson sat up, but the sudden movement made him feel dizzy, and he lay down again.

"Could that have killed me?"

"I don't know," House admitted. "It wouldn't have done you any good."

Wilson laughed.

"And if that didn't work, he had a knife as well. I think he was a drug dealer."

"What makes you say that?"

He's got crystal meth hidden in his shoes. And a big wad of money in the back pocket of his pants."

"Pretty conclusive evidence," Wilson said. "Are you done yet? Because if you are, maybe you could come over here, and you could sit beside me, and maybe you could hold me, and maybe you could kiss me, and I'd be really, really grateful."

"Hmmm," said House, counting up the money.

"When I said grateful, I _meant _I'd do anything you wanted. Anything at all. Within reason, of course."

"There's over two thousand dollars here," House said.

"So what are you going to do with the money?" Wilson asked. "You could buy a piano."

"Not a very good one," House said. "In the meantime, I think we should give the police a nice story."

House forced the drug dealer's mouth open and stuffed in the packets of crystal meth. Then he took the dealer's knife and slit his throat. There was very little blood, and even the most cursory forensic examination would show that the wound had been inflicted after death. Still he supposed the police and the medical examiner would prefer an ordinary drug-killing to a mysterious exsanguination.

--------------------

The Booby Hatch hadn't seemed too far away from the Strip before, but the trip back seemed endless. House blamed Wilson, who seemed in no hurry to get back to the Professor. He dawdled, and House bared his fangs and threatened to hit him if he didn't walk faster, but that seemed to make Wilson slow down even further. House had no choice then but to hit him, and he knocked Wilson off his feet. Wilson looked ready to continue the argument, and House realized that Wilson was purposely provoking him. House turned away from Wilson, and walked rapidly towards the Strip. Whether or not Wilson decided to follow was up to him.

House arrived at the Luxor at two-fifteen. The Professor hadn't arrived yet. As he waited, Wilson came up to join him.

"I'm not going back with you," he said. "Will you give me my share of the money?"

"It's all mine," House said. "I'm the boss. It's my money."

"But you always give me a share."

"I'm not giving you money to run away from me."

"I'm not running away. I just need to go away for a few days. A vacation."

"A vacation from what?" House asked. "It's not like you do any work."

"Please, House. I just want to feel safe for a while, so I can get some sleep. I'm tired."

House looked at his watch. Two twenty-four.

"How about we both go on a vacation? I could probably use some rest too."

Wilson smiled.

The Professor drove up in front of the Luxor at two twenty-nine. He drove off alone at two thirty-one.


	6. Vacation

Vacation

The staff aren't supposed to talk about the guests, but of course they do. Being a night clerk or a cleaner isn't a glamorous or well-paid career, and the odd juicy story is one of the few perks of the job. Four of the staff were in the breakroom, drinking coffee to keep them awake through the early morning hours.

"These two gay guys came up to the desk, wanting a room. They've got no reservation, no credit card, and I was just going to say 'no', when one of them pulls out a wad of cash. He won it on the quarter slots. The most I've ever won on the slots is eighty bucks, and I had to pay out one hundred twenty to get it! It's just not fair," said a desk clerk.

"Newsflash. Life isn't fair," said a cleaner.

"Besides for all you know, maybe he was a particularly deserving person," said another cleaner. "Doing good works and all. Maybe God looked down and smiled on him. He dropped a fortune into his lap because this guy spends all his weekends rescuing stray dogs and saving small children from burning buildings."

"They were both freaks," the night clerk said. "They didn't have any luggage with them, just grocery bags from the all-night mini-mart. I could see the packages sticking out of the bags. Aluminum foil."

"Aluminum foil? I don't get it. What freaky thing were they going to do with aluminum foil?"

"I don't know, and I don't want to know," the night clerk said.

"I thought for sure you would know," the first cleaner said. "You're our expert on freaky, since you spend so much time looking at Internet porn."

"I know," said the second cleaner. "You know how gay people like the Wizard of Oz. These guys have got a Tin Man fetish."

Norman Gerber, a man with the face of a basset hound who had been working security for decades, now spoke up.

"Two men came in, no reservations, no credit cards, just grocery bags full of aluminum foil? Did you give them a room?"

"Since they gave me cash in advance, I didn't see the harm."

"What room?"

"1409"

Gerber stood up and walked out of the room without another word.

"He's gonna bust them!" said the night clerk.

"I don't see why," said the second cleaner. "So what if they want to dress up like robots? I've seen a lot worse things than that."

------------------------------------

Gerber had tried to forget what he'd seen, but he'd never quite succeeded. He'd only been on the job a month or so when it happened. He'd been called to the casino to eject a young man who had no money left to play but refused to leave the casino. He was an unremarkable person, a skinny guy with longish brown hair, and Gerber had him down as a "hippie-type." He hadn't expected much resistance, but the guy fought like a wild thing, and Gerber had to call for support. It took six men to bring him to the ground. They'd carried him to the back entrance, and he fought, kicking and screaming, every inch of the way. Finally, they got him out, and the young man let out a terrified wail. As Gerber watched, he caught fire. There was a horrible smell that turned his stomach and Gerber turned away, and when he turned back, there was a pile of dust and ashes where the young man had been.

After the "incident", the head of security called all the men who had been involved into his office. At any other time, Gerber would have thought that what Alf Goodrich was telling them was an elaborate joke delivered in the boss's trademark deadpan style. Because of what he had just seen, he took what Goodrich said seriously.

Alf told him that the young man had been a vampire. Vampires existed, and they lived among humans, almost indistinguishable from their prey. In the movies, they had foreign accents, lived in castles and wore opera capes. In real life, they blended in.

"Vampires have fangs, but unless they're about to bite or they're threatening you, you'll never see them. They can smile and laugh and talk, and you'll never get a glimpse of their fangs. They have long, sharp fingernails like knives, but if they notice you looking, they'll put their hands in their pockets. And if they're signing something, and their hands are visible, they'll talk to you or try to distract you, so you'll look at their faces and not their hands. They have an odor. It's not offensive but it's noticeable. Like dusty old newspapers or rooms kept locked too long. The signs are subtle and easy to overlook.

The one distinguishing feature of the vampire is his fear of sunlight. He might bring in cardboard, plastic garbage bags, or tin foil to block out the light if he's staying in our rooms. If he's in the casino, like the vampire you just saw, he'll refuse to leave during daylight hours."

Alf Goodrich was dead now, and the men who had watched a vampire burn had gone their separate ways. Gerber didn't know where they were or even whether they were still alive. Gerber was the only one in the hotel who knew about vampires. The burden of protecting the hotel's guests fell on his shoulders.

Gerber borrowed a large cross from a Roman Catholic chambermaid and took handfuls of garlic from the hotel kitchen and stuffed them in his pockets. He found an old wooden doorstop and sharpened it with his penknife. He made it into a stake, but knew that he would never be able to drive a piece of wood through another person's chest. It was too difficult to tell a vampire from a human; he'd never be certain enough to take the risk of killing an innocent guest. He hoped the vampires didn't know that.

-----------

When Wilson heard the knock on the hotel room door, he knew that it had to be the Professor. No one else would come knocking at four o'clock in the morning. The Professor would be furious that House was playing hooky, and he would undoubtedly blame Wilson for leading him astray. Wilson took a quick glance through the peephole, just to prepare himself, and was surprised and relieved that the person at the other side of the door was a dour-looking man he had never seen before. He opened the door, and the man waved a piece of paper in his face, identifying himself as hotel security. In his other hand, we carried a misshapened wooden object that Wilson couldn't identify.

"It's four in the morning," Wilson said quietly. "I was going to bed. What do you want?"

Gerber looked at the guest, who looked only mildly annoyed at being disturbed. He was dressed in one of the hotel's terry cloth robes, and his hair was damp. He smelled of citrus - the hotel's shampoo and shower gel overpowered any other odors. Gerber looked at the man's hands. One of his hands was in the pocket of his robe, but the other was holding the door half open. The nails did look a bit long, but not unusually so. He could hardly put a stake through a man's heart just for not trimming his nails regularly. If only he could get the guest to open his mouth wide. Gerber yawned widely, hoping that this would make the guest yawn, too, but the man just looked at him, puzzled.

"It's late," Wilson said. "If you can't tell me what you want, I'm just going to shut the door and go to bed."

"I don't want any trouble, but you have to leave."

"Who's at the door?" House asked.

Like the other, he was wearing one of the hotel's robes and had obviously come straight from the shower. This one was taller and thinner and his voice was commanding. It was easier to believe that he might be a vampire.

"A man from hotel security. He says he wants us to leave."

"Why?" asked House.

He came up behind Wilson and put his arms around him. Wilson leaned back, rubbing against him. Wilson made a sound - something in between a growl and a purr – expressive of pure animal pleasure. Gerber, who considered himself unshockable, blushed, but didn't look away. He stared at House's hands with their long sharp fingernails. When he looked up, House met his eyes. He smiled mockingly. He didn't seem at all bothered by the cross Gerber was wearing or by the scent of garlic. Gerber clutched his makeshift stake.

"We don't need your kind here. I'm giving you a chance to leave now to avoid a confrontation."

House's voice rose in indignation.

"If you think my boyfriend and I are going to leave the hotel room we paid for, just because some religious bigot tells us too, you are in for a big surprise. Have you ever heard of GLAAD, because I'm going to make damn sure that they hear about you!"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it!" Gerber said vehemently, though his voice never rose above a whisper. He wanted to avoid waking any guests who had managed to sleep through House's tirade.

"What do you mean then? What kind are we?"

"You're...you're vampires!" Gerber almost whispered that last melodramatic word. He felt ridiculous making such an accusation.

"Prove it!" House said.

He opened his mouth wide, displaying his fangs, and Gerber stepped back involuntarily. House snarled and the security man's knees threatened to give out under him. He clutched the wall to support himself.

House slammed the door to the hotel room and bolted it.

"Did you really need to do that?" Wilson asked.

House was unrepentant. He picked up the hotel phone and called the night desk.

"Hello, I'm phoning to report a very disturbing incident with a member of hotel security. The man has obvious mental problems. I blame the hotel for hiring someone in his condition for such a responsible position. My friend and I are both very distressed. He's a lawyer – tort law – and he's says you're negligent."

Wilson laughed. He headed for the balcony windows carrying rolls of aluminum foil and duct tape – indispensible necessities for any vacationing vampire hoping to escape the sun's deadly rays.


	7. Rest and Relaxation

House woke up just before two in the afternoon feeling the inevitable day-after-the-kill depression.

At the instant of the kill, House felt as if he and his victim shared some profound connection. They had been brought together at that time and place so that House could live and his victim could die. He thought he could perceive, dimly and imperfectly, the outlines of a pattern. There was an underlying order which gave everyone and everything in the universe its own particular part to play and its own unique destiny. House was doing exactly what he was meant to do.

Of course, this "insight" wasn't some cosmic epiphany. What he felt was a biochemical trick his body played on him – synapses and neurotransmitters conspiring to produce a satisfying illusion. He knew that.

Still, after the illusion faded, the universe always seemed darker and crueller by comparison. At such times, House needed Wilson more than he was ready to admit – Wilson who loved him; Wilson who admired him; Wilson who always forgave him.

Wilson, however, was sleeping and of no use to House or anyone else. He slept on his side curled up like the letter 'c'. House was going to wake him up, and then hesitated. He knew Wilson hadn't been sleeping well for weeks and was exhausted. Generously, House decided to let him sleep.

He picked up the television remote from the bedside table and turned on the television, clicking through the channels until he landed on his favourite soap opera. He hadn't watched it for a while, since the Professor's television didn't pick up the right station, but he had no trouble picking up the plot. Matt, one of his favourite characters, figured heavily in this episode. He had kidnapped his sister's baby in order to get the child medical treatment for a rare genetic disorder. House snorted. As usual, the writers got all the medical details wrong.

At the end of the program, House looked over at Wilson again. He looked very _thoroughly_ asleep, as if he might sleep for hours and hours, selfishly using up all of their precious vacation time. House was beginning to get annoyed.

House got out of bed and walked over to the room's mini-fridge. It was a deluxe model with built-in icemaker. House tried out the icemaker to see if it worked. It did.

He dropped the ice cube down Wilson's neck.

Wilson was vexed. He muttered words like 'childish" and "immature" under his breath, low enough so that House could pretend not to hear them. Then he went into the bathroom and turned on the shower, and House waited almost a full minute before going to join him.

-------------------------

While they waited for nightfall, House and Wilson spent the afternoon watching the pay-per-view channel and playing videogames. The hotel offered Guitar Gods, one of House's favourite games, and one at which Wilson didn't have a hope in hell of ever winning. House proposed forfeits to make the game more interesting. In the old days, when they were human, forfeits had involved alcohol – shots of whiskey or cans of beer – but Wilson had never been foolish enough to agree to forfeits when the game was Guitar Gods. Unfortunately, he was no longer in a position where he could refuse. Wilson was relieved that House's forfeits were more benign than he expected. Mostly sexual of course, but not what Wilson thought of as "vampire sex". No humiliation, and no more pain or blood than the odd nip. There was even some kissing and cuddling, which Wilson liked a lot more than House did. That should have made him suspicious of House's motives, but it didn't.

Wilson was trying to play "Bad Moon on the Rising." He was failing miserably, but he was smiling and laughing. He looked relaxed and unguarded for the first time in weeks. At last he reached the end of the song, and the panel of judges (Apollo, Orpheus and Euterpe) leaned their heads together and conferred. They gave him a three out of ten, which was the best score he'd received all afternoon. Of course, House had been awarded a ten.

"I win," said House.

"What a surprise."

"And the forfeit is that you have to tell me what you're afraid of."

"Are we playing truth or dare, now? I'm afraid of bats. I've never liked the idea of flying rodents with rabies and sharp little teeth, and I know that's ironic, considering I'm a vampire now."

"I'm not talking about that kind of fear," House said. "Yesterday, you said you needed to be someplace where you felt safe. Meaning that you usually feel unsafe. Meaning that you're afraid."

"I said that I needed a break. That's all. Not that I was afraid."

House didn't say anything. There was an awkward silence.

"I was thinking that if you'd let me have the money we got from the drug dealer, I could use it as a security deposit for an apartment in town," Wilson said. "I think it would be better for everyone. You and the Professor get along much better when I'm not around."

"How is that better for me? If I wanted you, I'd have to go all the way into town. And if it was during the day, you might as well be on the moon."

"You could stay over at my apartment whenever you wanted. I'd invite you in. Not the Professor, though. If I don't invite him, he can't come in, right?"

"No, that only works for humans. A vampire doesn't need an invitation to enter the home of another vampire."

"Oh," Wilson sounded disappointed.

"Wilson, I have to know what happened. Something went on between you and the Professor in the laundry room. You don't have to tell me every detail, but I do have to know whether the Professor hurt you. He promised me that he wouldn't hurt you. I have to know whether he broke his word. If I can't trust him to keep his promises, I have to know now."

Wilson looked down. Since the Professor had begun his campaign of harassment, Wilson had lived in fear. He hardly ate or slept, and when he did manage to fall asleep, he had nightmares. According to human laws, the Professor had threatened and sexually assaulted him. But the Professor was a vampire and human laws didn't apply. When the Professor left the laundry room, Wilson wasn't bleeding or even bruised. He hadn't been physically harmed.

"He didn't break his word," Wilson said.

--------------------------------

As soon as the sun went down, House and Wilson went down to the hotel lobby and spoke to the desk clerk. In the pre-dawn hours of the morning, a man from hotel security had knocked on their door demanded that the vampires leave. The whole episode had been ludicrous and pathetic rather than frightening – one sad-looking human, close to retirement age, trying to intimidate two vampires with a piece of wood – and House had scared him away. However, House had threatened the hotel with litigation over the incident. Anxious to avoid negative publicity, they had promised House free tickets to one of the shows on the Strip.

House took the tickets to the late performance of the Cirque de Soleil with bad grace. He did not intend to be easily placated; he wanted to milk the situation for as much free loot as possible. While Wilson hovered in the background (he was supposed to be House's boyfriend, the expert in tort law), House explained again how extremely upset and traumatized they had been.

"He had a stake in his hand and he was obviously insane. We couldn't reason with him. He tried to push his way in. It was four in the morning, and he woke us up. He was a nightmare come to life."

When the desk clerk only nodded sympathetically, House raised his voice. He delivered his lines with dramatic panache, drawing the attention of everyone within a twenty-foot radius.

"It's outrageous that innocent guests have to live in fear of deranged hotel staff! He meant to stab me!"

"The hotel deeply regrets this incident. We'd like to try to make your memories of your stay here more positive. Perhaps dinner at our restaurant..."

"Food," said House, "I've just come this close to being murdered by a maniac, and I'm supposed to have an appetite! I need comfort, the warmth of human companionship."

The house clerk looked in Wilson's direction.

"Female companionship."

"Sir, if you're asking that the hotel pay for the services of a call girl..."

Wilson looked up, surprise and distress evident on his face, and the desk clerk discreetly turned away from him.

"I'm afraid we can't do that."

The desk clerk called for the night manager. While House, the desk clerk, and the night manager haggled over what the hotel would do to compensate House for his trauma, Wilson edged away. After a few moments, House turned away from the desk clerk and the night manager. He looked around for Wilson, who seemed to have disappeared. Finally House spotted him at the far side of the lobby, near the entrance of casino. House walked over to him.

"I've got massages booked for us for tomorrow afternoon, and I've got them to throw in a whole case of that lemony shower gel they have, since you like it so much. And look at this, two hundred dollars in chips. We've got plenty of time before the Cirque starts. What do you think: poker, blackjack, or roulette?"

---------------

Wilson wasn't a bad poker player. He just couldn't concentrate, and after a couple of bad hands, he lost his entire share of the chips. House was winning though. He'd recouped Wilson's losses and was up another ten or twenty. Wilson watched House take fifty dollars from a dentist from Idaho who thought that he could bluff a vampire. As the cards were being shuffled, Wilson tapped House on the shoulder to get his attention. House, intent on the game, didn't look up and responded impatiently.

"What do you want? I'm winning here."

"Do you see that?" Wilson said quietly, pointing to a camera in the ceiling.

"Of course I see it. It's part of casino security. They're everywhere."

"Yes, but can it see you?"

House swore. His fellow players turned to look at him.

"We've been here a while," Wilson whispered. "How long do you think it will take casino security to come and investigate a faulty camera?"

They looked around, and spotted a couple of large men in suits walking with unobtrusive speed towards them. House scooped up his chips and left his hand untouched on the table.

---------

After House cashed in his chips, they headed for the hotel which hosted the Cirque du Soleil. House and Wilson watched tiny, elfin, improbably flexible creatures in elaborate costumes tumble and fly and cavort. There was supposed to be a plot of some kind, but it was lost in spectacle. A man dressed like a poodle and carrying an orange umbrella rode a bicycle on the high wire, while women in spangled leotards spun plates and did cartwheels. It was very pretty, very whimsical, and Wilson felt his eyes growing heavy. He fell asleep against House's shoulder, just as the poodle man did a headstand on the seat of the bicycle. Wilson started to drool on House's leather jacket, and House elbowed him.

They left at the Intermission.

"It had its charms," Wilson said diplomatically.

"It was entirely too charming. I like the old Vegas better. Topless chorus girls and old men in bow ties telling filthy jokes."

Wilson yawned, carelessly exposing his fangs. House nudged him.

"Stay awake. The night's barely started."

---------------------

First there was a drag show starring a Madonna impersonator; then the Ferris wheel at New York, New York; a comedy club; and finally bowling. It was less than an hour before dawn when House hailed a taxi to take them back to the hotel.

Wilson looked at House speculatively. The other vampire had seemed determined to fill every moment of their night together with fun and excitement. Perhaps, Wilson thought, because House knew that as soon as they returned, there would be no fun for a very long time. The Professor had no appreciation for human pastimes, amusements or culture; he never read a book, watched television, or listened to music, and his apprentice was supposed to follow his austere example. Wilson reflected that House probably dreaded their return to the Professor's house almost as much as he did.

"We don't have to go back to the Professor," Wilson said. "We could use the money to get away."

House said, "I don't like the Professor any more than you do. We just have to endure his company for a little while longer. After my apprenticeship is over, we'll never have to see him again."

They spoke quietly so the cabbie wouldn't overhear.

"Do you think your apprenticeship will ever be over?" Wilson asked. "I can't see that selfish old monster ever letting his favourite student go."

"It can't be much longer. Just think of the two of us together once I'm done."

"We're learning all about vampire life from one source," Wilson said, "and I keep thinking what if he's the vampire equivalent of the Unabomber? What if we're only getting an ugly, warped view of what being a vampire is all about, because our teacher is ugly and warped? There has to be more to being a vampire than all this hatred and revenge and lust for power. Because if that's all there is..."

House ignored him and continued his own train of thought.

"We could even take a trip up to Princeton and convince Cuddy to give up single motherhood and join us. You could persuade her. You're better at that vampire persuasion/hypnosis trick than I am."

Wilson wasn't going to be sidetracked by compliments.

The taxi pulled up in front of their hotel. House handed the cabbie his fare and walked rapidly towards the hotel entrance. Wilson hurried after him, calling out his name, but House didn't stop.

House strode away from Wilson. He knew Wilson was unhappy; he didn't need to hear the same complaints over and over again. He got on the elevator and pressed the "up" button; Wilson squeezed in just before the door shut. When Wilson opened his mouth to continue their argument, House bared his teeth and growled. Wilson backed against the far wall of the elevator, and the remainder of the trip took place in silence.

House knew that Wilson's argumentative and disrespectful behaviour was partially his fault. He'd been too lenient. He'd ignored Wilson's slips, and Wilson had taken advantage of him. House glanced over at Wilson, who stared at the floor, silent and glum.

House led the way to their room and Wilson followed. House took off his leather jacket and went to hang it up. That was when he noticed the rip on the sleeve. The rip was new, but he knew that he hadn't caught his jacket on anything that evening. That meant that Wilson must have done it when he'd borrowed House's jacket the previous evening. He'd taken House's jacket without permission (stolen it), and then he'd ripped it, and he hadn't even respected House enough to tell him about the damage he'd done. Even if the tear could be repaired, his jacket would always have a tiny flaw. It had been perfect, and now it wasn't, and that was entirely Wilson's fault.

---------------------------------

Wilson lay on his stomach on the hotel room bed. His hair was mussed and still faintly damp, and his skin smelled of oranges, lemons and exotic fruit. He was naked. House, wearing one of the hotel's robes, straddled him. He ran his hands over Wilson's back, a smooth expense of skin unblemished save for a mole centred in the small of his back, just where the curve of his buttocks began. The mole hardly seemed a flaw at all; it seemed placed there by design. Gently, House traced the line of Wilson's back from his neck down to that perfectly placed mole, and he felt Wilson tremble at his touch.

Then House put his left hand on Wilson's shoulder, holding him down. With one of the wickedly sharp nails of his right hand, he cut a thin line down Wilson's back. The stripe, drawn in blood, was perfectly straight and centered. Still holding Wilson firmly in place, he followed the first stripe with another, also perfectly straight and parallel to the first. He paused to lap up a bead of blood that threatened to spoil his design. When he was finished there were five lines, equidistant from each other, each perfectly straight. House admired the effect of red blood against fair skin (it was a pity Wilson couldn't see it) and then leaned over to lick Wilson's wounds. The first cut had already begun to heal seamlessly.

House kissed Wilson on the nape of his neck, letting him know that his punishment was over and that his offense had been fully paid for in blood. He released him and Wilson sat up, his back to House. The movement reopened one of his cuts, and House reached out to catch the last droplet of blood on his finger before the wound healed. Wilson turned to face House, his expression distant and unreadable. House looked deep into his eyes. After a few seconds, Wilson looked away, but House had seen enough. Wilson wasn't hiding defiance or resentment; he had other secrets.

House fell asleep with Wilson in his arms and the taste of Wilson's blood, sweeter than honey, on his lips.


	8. Vampire Love

**Vampire Love**

During their vacation, House had realized that he was being too lenient with Wilson. He had allowed Wilson to express himself freely when they were alone together, and Wilson abused that privilege. He disputed House's decisions and argued with him, sometimes even in public. Wilson needed boundaries; he needed discipline, and it fell upon House to be the disciplinarian.

This was not a role that came naturally to House. He found himself aping the tone, bearing and mannerisms of his late father, a strict military man. His rigid unbending discipline had been the source for House's lifelong rebellion against all forms of authority. It was a strange irony that finally, after his death, House's father was becoming the role model he had always wanted to be.

House slapped Wilson when he spoke out of turn and bared his teeth when Wilson looked him directly in the eyes instead of keeping his gaze modestly lowered. At first, Wilson was bewildered by House's behaviour, but he caught on quickly to what was expected of him. He adapted, but he wasn't happy.

House's impulse was to ease up on the younger vampire. He preferred a happy, bickering Wilson to the subdued and sullen version. However, the Professor warned him that any laxity at this point would undo all the good he had done. Wilson would learn to be content once he knew his place. The Professor was the ancient vampire who had initiated House. He was an evil old creature and selfish to the core, but he was the only other vampire that House knew, aside from Wilson, and he was House's guide to vampire life. Reluctantly, House agreed.

-----------------

It was a shortly after dawn, and House was beginning to feel a craving for blood. He could feel the blood-hunger rising, making him feel irritable and out of sorts, and he knew there wasn't a damned thing that he could do about it until he could go hunting the next evening.

There was a knock on his bedroom door and House went to answer it. Wilson stood in the hallway. His eyes were lowered and his head was bowed. His behaviour was outwardly flawless, but House knew that Wilson was just playing at being subservient. It was a performance, and House was insulted that Wilson thought he could be fooled by it.

"I didn't send for you," House said. "You can go back to your room."

Wilson looked up, and House caught a glimpse of a genuine emotional response (hurt) before Wilson remembered his part.

Eyes carefully downturned, he said, "Don't you want me?"

"It's hot and I'm tired. I don't want sex so you can leave."

He shut the door.

"Please, House," Wilson called out, but House ignored him.

Wilson stood in the hallway for a long moment. He knew it was no use appealing to House, who no longer paid attention to anything he said. He headed cautiously for his own bedroom, a windowless closet next to the laundry room.

Wilson was afraid of encountering the Professor, who harassed Wilson whenever the two were alone together. His campaign of harassment had begun weeks ago, and it had escalated ever since House and Wilson had returned from their brief and unauthorized vacation. Wilson tried to fight his fear of the older vampire rationally. He knew that the Professor had promised House not to harm Wilson and the Professor considered himself honourable. He would not break his word. So Wilson was safe.

The problem was that Wilson did not believe his own logical argument. Every incident, every confrontation, fed the Professor's hatred. He relished Wilson's humiliation and he wanted more. He wanted Wilson's physical suffering, his death. Wilson could see the desire in his eyes. Every time the Professor went a little farther. He was like a guard dog chained to a post, lunging viciously at passers-by. Sooner or later the chain that held him back would break from the strain.

Wilson had to pass through the living room to get to his own room, and the Professor was sitting there, still as a stone, watching the morning light play over the desert. Wilson tried to move as silently as possible so that the Professor would not notice him.

The Professor looked up and smiled in delight at seeing Wilson. His fangs were long and sharp and stained pink by the blood of his most recent victim, an unlucky taxi driver. He was out of seat and standing next to Wilson in the blink of an eye. Wilson turned around to return to House, but the older vampire blocked his passage. The Professor took a step towards his prey and Wilson tried to sidestep. The Professor was an expert at this particularly game though. He forced Wilson back until the younger vampire was wedged up against the large picture window.

The Professor had designed his house with the needs of a vampire in mind, and the living room was his masterpiece. The sun's rays never quite made it to the window. At this time of day, the line between sun and shadow was about two and a half feet on the other side of the window. Wilson wondered how much pressure it would take for the glass to shatter, sending him backwards into the deadly sunlight.

The Professor's long talon-like fingernails explored Wilson's face and body in a deliberate and grotesque parody of House's affectionate caresses.

"I want so much to drink your blood. I want to make you cry out in pain."

"You gave House your word," Wilson said shakily.

"Yes, but you're forgetting the condition. For as long as House lives..."

"You'd kill House."

The Professor smiled again, exposing his fangs. He leaned against Wilson, and the younger vampire felt the window frame give a little under the added pressure.

"What do you want me to do?" Wilson asked.

"Get House to release me from my promise. Tell him you want to give me your blood. Tell him you love me."

"House won't believe that."

"You'll have to convince him. I don't think it will be very difficult."

The old vampire stroked Wilson's cheek. His hand was cold and dry.

"House and I talk about all sorts of things. I am his mentor, and the student-teacher relationship can be very intimate. He's told me all about you. How weak you are as a man and as a vampire. How you can never resist temptation. How you lie and cheat on the people you love. He won't be surprised.

After I drink your blood, House won't want you. You won't be his anymore. He won't care when I kill you. He might even be relieved."

"If you're going to kill me anyway, why should I help you?"

"You want to save House, don't you?"

The Professor leaned forward and kissed Wilson. His lips were pale and bloodless, and Wilson shut his eyes, so he wouldn't have to look into his face. He tried to break away, and the window shook in its frame.

"I want a little of what my apprentice has. It's only fair," the Professor kissed Wilson again, and tried to force his tongue between his lips. "Don't struggle. You'll break the window and kill us both."

-----------------------------

House lay in bed, his craving for blood keeping him awake. He remembered the note of desperation in Wilson's voice, and thought that he had been a bit hasty in dismissing him so abruptly. He'd let his momentary annoyance overrule his common sense.

He could take enough blood from Wilson to take the edge off his hunger. Just a few mouthfuls of Wilson's blood, and he would be able to sleep. Wilson didn't even mind letting House drink his blood. He didn't like the initial bite, of course, but everything else he enjoyed. Wilson loved the way House held him close to keep him still. He liked it when House told him how delicious he was. And, afterwards, when the blood loss made him feel sleepy, he would fell asleep in House's arms, almost purring with contentment.

House untangled himself from his dingy sheets (Wilson had been neglecting the laundry lately), got out of bed, and headed for Wilson's room. He stopped dead at the entrance to the living room. Wilson and the Professor were silhouetted against the picture window. As he watched, the Professor caressed Wilson and kissed him on the lips. The older vampire put his hands on Wilson's shoulders, and Wilson dropped to his knees. The Professor's hand was now on the back of Wilson's head, and he pushed him forward, guiding him towards his groin. Wilson reached up with shaking hands to undo the Professor's fly.

House howled in rage and anguish. He picked up the nearest item at hand, a large standing lamp, and hurled it at Wilson. Wilson narrowly dodged the missile, which shattered the window behind him. He fell backwards and grabbed on to a curtain to save himself. The curtain rail detached from the wall, but Wilson regained his balance.

The Professor, whose reflexes were astonishingly quick, was already halfway across the room, heading for House. House grabbed another lamp, the twin of the first, and swung it like a staff. The Professor kept out of range of the weapon. He was irrelevant anyway. House's attention was on Wilson. He had protected Wilson, given Wilson eternal life, and Wilson had betrayed him. Wilson was talking, saying House's name, trying to reason with him, but House was incapable of listening. Still ignoring the Professor, he swung the lamp standard at his vampire lover.

House dropped the lamp standard and leapt toward Wilson. He opened his mouth wide, showing all his teeth and fangs, and Wilson's feeble explanations died on his lips. House's sharp nails ripped through Wilson's clothes and pierced his skin. He bent over Wilson, fangs poised over the jugular vein. Wilson looked into his eyes and House hesitated. He grabbed Wilson by his shirt collar and threw him across the room.

"Go to your room. Wait for me there," he snarled.

Wilson picked himself up and scurried away.

---------------------------------

In his bedroom, Wilson could hear the voices of House and the Professor but he couldn't make out the words. At first they were shouting, but now they were speaking in normal conversational tones, as if nothing extraordinary had happened. Wilson thought of listening outside the door of the living room but the prospect of being caught deterred him.

Hours passed and Wilson became tranquil. What would happen would happen. While the sun was up, he was trapped, and there was nothing he could do to escape whatever fate House had chosen for him. He was lying fully clothed on his bed, half-asleep, when House came to get him. Wilson yawned, politely covering his mouth with his hand, and sat up. He was unshaven; hadn't seen a barber in months, and his clothes were wrinkled. He was a far cry from the well-dressed professional he had once been.

House's expression was grave.

"What have you decided?" Wilson asked.

"I'm not going to kill you," House said. "I'm going back to Princeton for Cuddy. I chose the wrong person. I should have picked her in the first place."

"What about Rachel?"

"I'll worry about Cuddy's daughter when I get there."

"Is the Professor going with you?"

"I hit him in the back of the head with a shovel. I told him I was going to kill you and bury you in the desert, and he found a shovel for me in the garage. I took it, stove in his skull and put him in the trunk of his car."

"You killed him."

"No, he's a vampire. Hard to kill. He's getting stronger by the minute, and when he recovers enough, he'll try to get out. We'll have to ditch the car. Leave it out in the open so he can cook to death in there when the sun comes up."

"We...so you want me to come with you to Princeton."

House nodded, "I'm not going to forgive you, though. Don't expect me to."

"He forced me. I didn't want..."

"I asked you directly about your problem with the Professor. I gave you every chance to tell me the truth. You chose not to confide in me, so don't come crying to me because you got in over your head.

I know that I will never feel the same way about you. The Professor was right about vampire love. It doesn't last."


	9. What a Vampire Wants

What a Vampire Wants

With the natural grace of his kind, Gregory House scaled the chain link fence, avoiding the rows of barbed wire at the top. The signs warning of video surveillance and canine patrols did not deter him; cameras couldn't record his image and even the fiercest guard dog whined and cowered in the presence of a vampire. Wilson hesitated, unsure whether House wanted him along. When House looked back at him impatiently, he followed.

The cherry red convertible was illuminated by floodlights. It stood on a platform, awarded a position of honour. The dealership used this car to attract business. Husbands and fathers came in of the street, just to look at this convertible and imagine themselves at the wheel. Then the dealership sold them sensible minivans and SUVs.

It was the car House had been dreaming of ever since he saved up his allowance to buy his first car magazine. The convertible was more than fifty years old, but it still looked as if it had just come off the assembly line that morning. In fact, it probably looked better than it did back when it was made. It had the kind of finish that could only come from decades of careful attention. This convertible had been waxed and polished countless times by someone who considered the task a privilege rather than chore. House touched its satiny surface. He coveted its perfection.

Wilson stood beside him. He'd always chosen his vehicles based on safety ratings and gas mileage rather than style, but even he was impressed.

"I'm going to take this one."

Even as he said the words, House knew what a bad idea stealing this particular car was. It was too conspicuous. Every highway trooper within five states would be looking for it. And even if the description of the vehicle never went beyond the city limits, highway cops would pull him over him anyway, just to be able to stand next to this beauty and run their fingers along its smooth curves.

Wilson was supposed to object at his point. It had always been his role to try to rein House in when his impulses carry him away. But he said nothing. Not a word.

His silence irked House. Wilson was perfectly prepared to let House do this stupid thing, which would probably condemn them both to a Thelma and Louise style death. House pictured himself and Wilson, chased by dozens of police, taking a dive into the Grand Canyon. It would be night, of course, so they wouldn't even have the luxury of enjoying the scenery as they plummeted to their fiery deaths.

It hurt to have to walk away from something he wanted so much, but House did it anyway. He turned away from the convertible, went past the new vehicles, most of which would probably be equipped with GPS tracking, and headed for the part of the lot devoted to used cars and trucks. House picked out a dark blue late-model SUV with leather seats and a long list of features that did not include GPS.

House went to the dealership office to get the keys. He kicked in the glass door, and headed straight for the key vault. He wrenched it open, picked out the key he needed, and dumped the others on the floor. He found a hand-written inventory of vehicles and parking spots next to the keys. House crumpled up the inventory and put it in his pocket as well, hoping that this might slow the dealership down when they tried to determine which of their vehicles had been taken.

When he returned, Wilson was standing beside the passenger door of the SUV. House got in the driver's side and leaned over to unlock Wilson's door. Without waiting for him to get in, House put the key in the ignition and started the car. Wilson scrambled in just as he pulled away. House stopped in front of the locked gate and Wilson got out. He tried to break the Yale lock, but even with his superior vampire strength, it held. Instead he ripped apart the chain links to make a doorway.

The Professor's car, with their bags on the backseat and the battered Professor in the trunk, was parked right outside the dealership. As House drove the SUV through the doorway he had created, Wilson went to retrieve their possessions. Walking rapidly towards the car, he could hear thumps and growls. The Professor had regained consciousness. There was a louder bang as the Professor kicked the lid of the trunk and the metal buckled. The car shook from the force of impact.

"Don't bother going back for our stuff," House called out. "Just get in the SUV."

Wilson shook his head. He didn't care about their clothes, which could be replaced, but his bag contained his photo album. It was a link to his past, and he didn't want to give it up. Wilson grabbed the luggage from the back seat. He had only taken a few steps away from the car, when the Professor broke the lock on the trunk and escaped his confinement.

The Professor was a terrifying sight. His ghastly white face was streaked with dried blood and grey matter and the back of his head was caved in. He glared at Wilson. Wilson couldn't see any intelligence in his eyes, just mindless hate. Wilson clutched the bags to his chest and stared the vampire down. The Professor bared his teeth, growled, and snapped. An answering growl, low and menacing, came from deep within Wilson's chest. House, who was still in the SUV several yards away, felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. Still looking straight into the Professor's eyes and growling, Wilson backed away. The other vampire followed, closing the gap between them.

House stamped down on the accelerator and drove the SUV straight at both of them. He hit the Professor but managed to miss Wilson. House jumped out of the SUV. Wilson had fallen to the pavement, but House didn't help him up or even glance in his direction.

"Stay dead this time," House said, looking over the body of the Professor.

"Maybe we have to cut off his head or light him on fire to kill him," Wilson said, sounding not at all pleased by the prospect.

"Too bad I didn't think to bring a machete or lighter fluid with me," House said. "Get back in the vehicle. I'm sure we set off a silent alarm at the dealership and the police will be on their way."

Wilson picked up their bags and got in the SUV. House took the driver's seat and drove away, merging into the flow of early evening traffic. They left the Professor lying in the middle of the street.

"So what do you have in your bag?" House asked.

"Clothes."

"Besides clothes," House said impatiently. "I know how afraid you are of the Professor. You didn't go back to the car for underwear and socks"

"I went back because I had to face him to conquer my fears. I needed to prove to myself that I`m not a total coward."

"Too late," said House.

-----------------------

House's craving for blood made it difficult for him to concentrate on the road. When they came to a well-lit oasis alongside the interstate, he pulled off. There were a cluster of businesses catering to passing traffic, including a gas station, restaurant and mini-mart. House pulled some bills from his wad of stolen cash and gave them to Wilson to pay for gasoline and supplies. He went hunting.

Wilson knew that his time was limited. When House returned, craving satisfied, he would remember his curiosity about the contents of Wilson's overnight bag. Wilson had to get rid of his photo album. He went through it quickly. He paused when he reached a photograph of Amber, his deceased girlfriend. He smiled. Amber would have made a great vampire. Wilson had to keep that one.

House had warned Wilson to keep nothing from his old life that could be used to identify him. These photographs were proof of his disobedience. If House found out he had kept them, Wilson's punishment would be severe. In the end, Wilson chose six photographs from the dozens in the album. Each held great significance for him. They were worth the risk.

He got out of the SUV, and dumped the album with its remaining photos in a garbage can. He walked into the mini-mart, and bought a map, a flashlight, batteries, a box of matches, candles, duct tape, aluminum foil, an emergency blanket, and a small padded envelope. Putting the bag containing the other supplies in the back of the SUV, he took out the envelope and the duct tape. He put the photographs he'd chosen in the envelope and taped the envelope in place underneath the SUV's spare tire. It wasn't a particularly good hiding place, but it was the best he had been able to think of on short notice. He'd find someplace better later. By the time House returned, Wilson had gassed up the vehicle and was sitting in the front passenger seat listening to a news station on the radio.

House's kill had been rushed, awkward and inelegant, and the blood of his victim was sour. He thought of taking a little sip from Wilson, just to get the taste out his mouth. Wilson's blood was the best thing he had ever tasted in his existence, either as a man or as a vampire.

Maybe, House thought, he tasted so good to me because we were compatible. We had chemistry, literally. I loved him, and now that I don't love him anymore, he won't taste as sweet. It was a ridiculous, romantic notion that didn't belong in the head of a determined realist like House, but he couldn't shake it.

----------------------

House didn't intend to follow the Professor's example. He wasn't planning on taking back roads and staying in rundown motels in Flyspeck, Utah or Middle of Nowhere, Kansas. He'd take Interstate highways and stay in decent accommodations with cable television and all the creature comforts.

He had hoped to make it as far as Denver the first night, but he hadn't counted on a spring snowstorm in the mountains. A state trooper turned back all vehicles not equipped with snow tires and chains, including their SUV, and House drove back to the last town (Blink and You'll Miss It, Colorado) to find a place to stay. It wasn't easy since the town had taken in other travelers who were also ill prepared for springtime in Rockies. Finally, persistence and the promise of a substantial tip paid off, and the half-asleep owner/manager of a motel promised them a single room, recently vacated by a long-haul trucker who had wanted to be on the road before dawn. While he went to change the sheets and towels and clean the room, Wilson got their luggage.

House looked at Wilson's bag speculatively. He could demand that Wilson hand it over so that he could search it, but Wilson had had plenty of time to get rid of whatever valuable item he had been willing to face the Professor to save.

Wilson still kept secrets. Even after his unwillingness to confide in House had nearly brought about his own death. Another piece of evidence, as if any more were needed, that Wilson would never be able to give House the clear, uncomplicated obedience that he deserved. He surrendered his body to House, but not his mind or his emotions or his will. Wilson would never be wholly his, as he should be.

That was why he needed to be replaced. It wasn't only because he had been polluted by the Professor's touch.

----------------------

The manager hadn't told them that the room had only one queen-sized bed. He'd been afraid that they'd walk away, taking their promised tip with them.

"I've got a cot on wheels that I could put in the room, but it's really for kids. Too short and narrow for a grown man," the manager said.

"We'll take the cot," House said.

-----------------------

When Wilson tried to lie flat, his feet dangled off the end, and when he curled up, his knees banged against the metal frame. The cot creaked loudly every time he moved, and one of the wheels had been bent, so that it tottered unsteadily and threatened to tip over. He decided it would be more comfortable to sleep with the mattress on the floor. He got up to remove the mattress from the frame producing another series of loud protesting creaks.

"What are you doing?" House asked. "I'm trying to sleep."

"So am I, but this cot won't let me," Wilson said. "I'm going to turn the light on for a minute so I see how the damned thing folds up."

"Leave it."

"But there isn't room for me to lay the mattress on the floor unless it's folded up," Wilson explained.

Wilson turned on the light, and House sat up in bed, and watched Wilson battle the cot. It should have been a rout, since Wilson was a vampire with superior strength and reflexes and the cot was a piece of rusty metal, but the cot was putting up a determined resistance. House emitted an irritated growl, which made Wilson feel nervous and flustered, giving the cot just the advantage it needed. Wilson cried out as the metal frame abruptly snapped shut, catching his finger. House caught a glimpse of scarlet and then Wilson put his finger in his mouth, sucking the cut.

"I told you to leave that thing alone," House said. "You can sleep in the bed. I won't bite."

House showed his fangs to reinforce his (admittedly weak) joke, not taking into account the effect of an aggressive display on a weaker vampire. Wilson looked even more nervous, and made no move to join House.

"Get into bed," House said in his father's tone of command, and this time Wilson obeyed.

Wilson turned out the light and slipped under the covers. He avoided touching House, leaving as much space as possible between them.

-----------------------------

The sound of a door slamming woke House up in the middle of the day. His eyes fluttered and then opened. As he slept, Wilson had moved closer to House, his body molding itself to House's. Wilson rubbed against him when House shifted position, maintaining the physical contact he needed. House breathed in Wilson's scent as he took the sleeping vampire in his arms. He put his lips on the nape of Wilson's neck, not a kiss but a touch, and Wilson arched his back and made a low animal moan, as if that particular spot were wired directly to the pleasure centres of his brain.

House felt reassured. Even though he no longer loved Wilson, Wilson still loved him.


	10. Dreamland

**Dreamland**

House and Wilson were traveling from Nevada to New Jersey, where House was planning to pay a visit to Lisa Cuddy. He had decided that choosing Wilson to accompany him into his new life as a vampire had been a mistake and that Cuddy would be a better companion.

Wilson was not ruthless or selfish enough to make a strong vampire. A weak vampire like Wilson had to respect the superior vampire who protected him. However, Wilson had proven to be too secretive and too opinionated. He could not wholly submit to House's will nor give him his unquestioning obedience.

The only area in which Wilson actually excelled as a vampire was his skill at persuasion. Wilson disliked causing pain to his victims, and used his persuasive abilities to calm them and to make the kill as gentle as possible. House believed that Wilson's aptitude would come in handy when the time came to initiate Cuddy.

The transformation from human to vampire was a delicate process, requiring the consent and co-operation of the initiate. House had barely succeeding in convincing Wilson to become a vampire, even though Wilson had been lonely and unhappy in his old life. Knowing that refusal meant death, Wilson still had been prepared to turn House down. Only the sight of tears in the House's eyes, evidence of real emotion, had swayed him.

Cuddy had a good life. She had a foster daughter she planned to adopt, supportive friends and family, material comforts, and a challenging and satisfying job. House knew that he would need all the help he could get to convince her to give up that life.

-------------------

Predators dream of hunting.

In his dream, Wilson stalked his prey through the corridors of a castle. He was in no hurry since there was no way for her to escape; all the windows on the lower floors were covered by shutters and the one door into the castle was too heavy for his prey to open on her own.

The castle had once been beautiful. Fine Turkish carpets had been imported to cover the cold stone floors, and silk curtains and tapestries graced its windows. These things once delighted the castle's owner, but after their novelty faded, and they no longer brought him pleasure, he allowed them to fall into decay. The carpets were now threadbare and grey with dust, their rich patterns imperceptible. The curtains were rags.

Wherever the carpets gave way to stone floor, Wilson could hear the tapping of his prey's high heeled shoes, and the sound excited him. He listened to her footsteps as she climbed the stairs that led to the roof, and felt an unholy exultation. The climax of the hunt would take place under the stars.

Wilson followed her up the last flight of stairs at a slow and deliberate pace. His body tingled with anticipation; he wanted to feel his prey struggle in his arms and taste her blood. She would fill his emptiness and give him everything he needed.

Knowing that there was nowhere else for her to go, Lisa Cuddy turned to face her death. Wilson admired her courage. He stepped out on to the roof to join her, and the door to the roof banged shut behind him. He turned around, and House smiled at him, his vampire's fangs sharper than knives. When he looked forward, Cuddy was baring her teeth in the same menacing grimace. Cuddy was a vampire. Caught between them, Wilson understood that he had been the prey all along, and the sudden realization made the vampire whimper in his sleep.

Cuddy and House each took one of his arms. Wilson kicked and snarled and snapped, but they were immensely strong. He pleaded and whined, but they were implacable. Inch by inch, they dragged him to meet their master, the Professor.

The Professor had been grotesquely transformed by his injuries, but his suffering had also made stronger and more malevolent. He was deformed and misshapen, and for every wound that had been inflicted on him, he would make Wilson pay tenfold.

In the way of dreams, House and Cuddy had disappeared, and Wilson and the Professor were alone. The stars and the moon and the castle roof were all gone too. Only the Professor remained, shining with a chill white glow. Wilson shivered with cold.

"Wilson, Wilson," said the Professor in a voice that was not his own.

When he felt the Professor's hand on his shoulder, Wilson reacted instinctively. He slashed at his attacker with his nails, baring his teeth and snarling. The Professor cried out in pain and surprise; only this time Wilson recognized his voice.

"House?"

Wilson's eyes opened. He was in bed. He'd kicked off all the covers, but he was still tangled in the sheets. House was sitting on the side of his bed. He had his hand covering one eye, but the other glared angrily at Wilson.

"Put your hand down, House," Wilson said. "I have to see how bad it is. Please."

Wilson sighed with relief when he saw that he had missed House's eye. There was a cut, a slash wound from one of Wilson's fingernails, an inch and a half beneath. It was bleeding profusely. Wilson went to the bathroom to get a damp facecloth to clean House's wound so that he could see it better. Fortunately, the wound was not deep, and the bleeding slowed down and then ceased.

"I think it's going to heal without a scar," Wilson said. "I'll see if they have bandages in the bathroom cabinet."

House launched himself at Wilson without warning. Wilson fell backwards, hitting his head hard on the floor. Stunned, he made no move to defend himself. House loomed over him, and Wilson was as helpless as he had been in his dream.

"I'm sorry I hurt you," Wilson said "It wasn't intentional. It was just instinct. You startled me. It isn't a good idea to startle a sleeping predator."

House snarled, and Wilson trembled and shut his eyes. House was satisfied by Wilson's fear. However, he had Wilson's training to consider. Wilson had cut him, had shed his blood, and simply scaring him was probably not sufficient punishment. If the Professor were there, he'd probably recommend something biblical, reminiscent of God's wrath directed toward an idol-worshipping Israelite.

House wasn't the Professor. He slapped Wilson, not very hard since he had just hit his head. He was careful not to cut him with his nails.

------------------

House had been in the room adjoining Wilson. When he'd heard Wilson moaning and growling in his sleep, he'd been worried that the noise might attract hotel staff or other guests. There was a door between the two rooms, but it had been locked on Wilson's side. House had broken the lock to get to him. He wanted to book out before the hotel discovered the broken lock or the bloody sheets and towels and charged him for the damage.

Before they left the city, though, Wilson needed to feed. House dropped him off at a likely-looking neighbourhood, where there were restaurants and a movie theatre to attract foot-traffic.

Wilson waited in the shadows for a victim. It was early in the evening, barely past sundown, but there wasn't much nightlife in the towns and cities of the Great Plains. The streets were almost deserted, and Wilson was beginning to feel anxious. Pickings would only become slimmer as the night wore on.

Robert Hennessy spotted Wilson in the dark from across the street and walked toward him. Wilson crossed Hennessy off as a potential victim as soon as he approached him. Wilson always approached his prey, and he wasn't comfortable with the reversal of roles. He waited for the apparent panhandler to deliver his request for spare change.

Hennessy was a bachelor farmer in his middle years, and his habits were eccentric and engrained. He did exactly as he liked, and didn't care about what other people thought about him or the way he lived. He had a seven figure bank account, and the manager of bank in his home town called him "sir", but he looked like a derelict. Hennessy stank of cigarettes, sweat, manure, and urine. He'd pretty much given up on washing after his mother had died ten years earlier. He'd never seen much point to it, considering that he was only going to get dirty again.

About once a month, Hennessy drove for three hours to the city and to this particular neighbourhood. Male prostitutes weren't cheap, but every now and then he got an urge too strong to ignore. This particular prostitute was older than usual, but Hennessy could see the same desperation in his eyes. He slipped a twenty into his hand. Wordlessly, Hennessy unzipped his fly and lowered his pants.

Hennessy pressed his body against Wilson's. And Wilson couldn't push him away, because he couldn't move. He stood still as the man's foul odour enveloped him, and his filthy hands touched him.

Hennessy expected the whore to get busy, considering he'd paid up front, but he just stood there. Hennessy was getting impatient. He grunted, and then slapped the prostitute across the face, letting him know that he expected to get his money's worth.

The blow released Wilson from his paralysis. He snarled, and Hennessy backed away. Tottering unsteadily on legs suddenly too weak to support his weight, Hennessy still managed to take several steps towards the safety of the illuminated street before Wilson dragged him back.

-------------------------

House had expected Wilson to return from the hunt an hour ago. Time was passing and he wanted to get on the road. House considered the possibility that Wilson had run away, but decided it was more likely that Wilson had been unable to make the kill. He was too ashamed to come back to House and tell him that he had failed. House went to look for him.

Wilson was still in the alley where House had left him. The younger vampire was covered with blood, sitting by the body of his latest victim. It was hard to tell whether that victim was male or female, so severely had his prey been mauled. (The authorities would later decide that Hennessy had been attacked by vicious dogs, most likely Rottweilers or pit bulls.)

House stood over him, but Wilson did not look up.

"Wilson, Wilson, look at me," House said gruffly.

Wilson's head rose. His expression was blank, but tears streamed down his face, mixing with the blood smeared around his mouth. Wilson's long sharp fingernails were painted red with blood. He was shaking.

"What did you do?" House asked, although it was perfectly obvious what Wilson had done.

House knelt down over the victim. Most vampires have rituals they perform after a kill. House's ritual was to learn the name of the murdered person and commit it to memory. Wilson growled.

"He's yours," House said reassuringly. "I'm not taking him away. I just want to look at his driver's license to find out who he was. I'm getting out his wallet."

The farmer's wallet was as thick as a Stephen King novel. Held together by rubber bands, it contained almost every scrap of paper that had passed through Hennessy's hands. Ancient, yellowing business cards, twenty-year-old receipts for chicken feed, and long-expired coupons made up most of its bulk, but there was cash as well – almost eight hundred dollars in dirty, wrinkled fives, tens, and twenties.

"All your money," House said, putting it on the ground next to Wilson. The other vampire ignored it.

"Okay, Wilson. The kill is over. He's dead. It's time for you to come back to the SUV with me. Come on," House said, "Get to your feet."

Wilson still did not respond. House was losing patience.

"You're coming with me." House ordered. "Stand up before I have to hit you."

House thought he saw a flicker of defiance in his eyes, but Wilson got to his feet meekly enough. House picked up the money and put it in his pocket, since Wilson wasn't interested in it. House led Wilson back to the parking lot where their stolen SUV was parked. The streets were deserted and the parking lot was close by, so no one saw them.

"We have to get you cleaned up," House said.

He looked in the bag containing the emergency supplies Wilson had bought for them. No wet naps. No water. It was uncharacteristic of Wilson to forget such essentials.

House grabbed Wilson's overnight bag and took out a t-shirt. He dipped one end of the t-shirt in a puddle of water, and used it to wash Wilson's face and hands. Then he took another t-shirt and a pair of wrinkled pants from the bag.

"Change into these," House said.

When Wilson made no move to comply, House tried to undress him, but Wilson growled again. Usually, House did not tolerate any aggression from the weaker vampire, but he recognized that Wilson was not in a normal state of mind. If he confronted Wilson directly, he might not back down. House had no doubt that he would prevail in any physical contest between them, but he might kill or seriously injure Wilson. House didn't want to do that. He still needed him.

"Okay," House said. "Be an idiot. I'm only trying to help you."

He tossed Wilson the plastic pouch containing the emergency blanket. Despite his dazed condition, Wilson caught it.

"Cover yourself up, so if we have to stop for gas you don't send the station attendant screaming for the police. You can have this too," House said, handing Wilson his leather jacket. "I don't want it anymore, and it might stop you from shivering."

"Thanks," said Wilson, speaking at last.

-----------------------

There was no moon and the sky was overcast. The speedometer told House he was going over one hundred miles per hour. He was eating up the distance separating him from Lisa Cuddy, but he had no sense that he was getting closer to her. It was past midnight and he was driving through farmland. There were no other vehicles on the road, and any farmers had long since turned out the lights and gone to bed. It was as if the SUV and its occupants were caught within a bubble, surrounded above and below by infinite darkness.

House turned his head to look at his travelling companion. Wilson was sleeping, huddled in the emergency blanket. The collar of House's jacket was just visible over the top of the blanket. House could see Wilson's eyes move beneath their lids. He mumbled something too softly for House to make out the words. He moved agitatedly, warding off whatever was menacing him in his dreams.

House stepped down harder on the gas pedal and turned on the radio.


	11. Pillow Talk

**Pillow Talk**

House wasn't happy having to stay in Cabin 12 of the Sunshine Inn instead of the Ramada or the Holiday Inn, but practical considerations overruled comfort. The door to that unit was blocked from view by overgrown weeds, bushes and trees. Wilson, who was still covered in blood after his latest and most violent kill, could not be seen either from the road or from the motel office as he got out of their SUV. Cabin 12 was also the last cabin in line, furthest from the motel office and from the other guests at the inn, so that if Wilson had another bad dream, there would be no one around to hear him growl and whine in his sleep.

The cabin wasn't quite as bad as House had feared. It had been redecorated fairly recently in fifties retro style, to match the period of its construction. There was a sofa bed in the main room of the cabin and the usual clock radio, television, desk and dresser. There was a tiny kitchenette, an equally tiny bathroom, and a sleeping alcove with a queen-sized bed. At one point, there had probably been a curtain or a sliding door to give those sleeping in the alcove some privacy, but now it was open to the main room.

House decided to take the sofa bed since there wasn't a television in the alcove. He pulled out the bed, kicked off his shoes and got under the covers, still fully clothed. He felt exhausted. House turned on the television, while Wilson got their supplies from the SUV. Then Wilson went to take a shower.

----------------------

There was blood caked in his hair and on his skin. Wilson stood under the hot shower, scrubbing himself with the gritty, flower-scented soap the inn provided. The cheap soap produced hardly any suds, and he couldn't get the blood from underneath his nails. No matter how hard he scrubbed, there was a thin red-brown crescent where his skin met the nail. Wilson stood under the spray until the water ran cold. He got out of the shower and, not bothering to dry himself, reached for his overnight bag. He took out a pair of nail clippers. He thought that his nails would be easier to clean if they were shorter. Unfortunately, the clippers broke on the first try.

Wilson looked into the bathroom mirror. Normally, he avoided mirrors. But after what he had done that evening, he needed to see what a mirror would show him. Instead of his reflection, there was a swirl of darkness. Wilson believed that it was an image of the evil within him. Had that image changed since the last time he'd been brave enough to look at it? Was that swirl any darker? He couldn't tell. He leaned forward to peer deeper into the glass.

Because he was a vampire, Wilson did not feel any guilt for killing to survive. He did have an intellectual understanding of right and wrong, however. He wasn't an animal; he was capable of moral reasoning. Wilson tried to kill humanely. He did not want his prey to feel afraid or to suffer any pain that could be avoided.

That night, he had broken all his rules. His victim had suffered horribly, and Wilson had relished the fear he saw in his eyes, because it made him feel powerful. Wilson had been trying to be an ethical vampire, an impossible creature, but his true nature had prevailed at last.

"Wilson, what's taking you so long?" House called out from the other room. "Hurry up and get out here. You haven't covered the windows yet."

Wilson turned away from the mirror.

--------------------

Wilson came out of the bathroom. His feet were bare and he was wearing t-shirt and pyjama bottoms. His dark brown eyes peered out from under his too-long, dripping wet hair. House thought he looked like a child caught doing mischief.

"I tried to get the blood out from under my nails, but I can't," Wilson said. "I want to trim them short, but my clippers broke. I need the kind vets use on cats and dogs."

"Vampires don't clip their nails," House said.

"Did the Professor tell you that?" Wilson asked.

He walked over to the plastic bag containing their supplies and took out the aluminum foil and duct tape. He began working on the first of the windows.

"Your fingernails are a weapon," House said. "You need them."

"I can hunt without them. All they're good for is protecting myself against other vampires. You and the Professor are the only other vampires I know, and either one of you could kill me any time you want anyway. They just get in the way when I want to do the laundry or use a cellphone. They don't make hanging up tin foil any easier either."

House directed a look of annoyance at Wilson's back.

"Clipping your nails won't make you any less a vampire. You could pull out your fangs and file down your teeth and that still wouldn't change what you are."

"I know what I am," Wilson said.

He'd finished the first window, and began sealing the door with duct tape.

"Yes, but you don't like being what you are. You'd rather pretend to be human than be yourself."

Wilson finished sealing the gap underneath the door and got to his feet.

He said, "Would you please help me with the rest of the windows? The sun's going to come up any minute now, and I've got three more windows to go. I know it's my job, and I know I didn't do my fair share of the driving tonight..."

"and you started late because you took a long shower and used up all the hot water," House added.

"but would you help me anyway?"

Reluctantly, House got out of bed and grabbed a roll of aluminum foil from their supplies.

-------------------

House woke up when he heard Wilson calling out in his sleep. Another bad dream. House got out of his bed and went across the room. Wilson was thrashing about, fighting some enemy that existed only within his dream. The last time House had woken Wilson from a nightmare, the other vampire had slashed him with his nails, so this time House was cautious. He went to the refrigerator in the kitchenette and took out the bottle of water that the inn's management kindly provided its guests. Standing back, he poured the cold water over the sleeping vampire to wake him up.

Wilson sputtered. House had saved him from the Professor, who haunted his dreams, but he didn't appreciate the method House used. He glared at the other vampire, but House had already turned around and was heading back to his own bed. Fortunately for Wilson, he didn't see the dirty look his subordinate gave him.

Wilson took off his wet clothes, and rummaged through his overnight bag, looking for something else to wear. Finally, he found a not particularly clean t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants. The sweatpants were too long and a bit tight around the waist, so he thought that they were probably House's and he'd mixed them up with his things by mistake. He hoped House wouldn't notice.

Wilson's bedding was soaked, and he didn't want to sleep on the floor. He got into bed with House. House growled, low in his throat, angry at this unasked-for invasion of his territory. He rose up over Wilson, teeth bared, and gripped both his arms. Wilson lifted up his head, exposing his neck in a gesture of submission. House bent low, grazing his sharp fangs against Wilson's neck. Wilson didn't move. He shut his eyes, and after a moment House released him. Wilson, who had been holding his breath, sighed in relief.

"You owe me," House said.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said. "I should have asked your permission."

"I'm not talking about letting you sleep in my bed," House said. "I could have left you in that alley to fend for yourself. I could have killed you, but I decided to save you instead. You haven't thanked me."

"I'm grateful for what you did," Wilson said. "Thank you."

"Good," House said, and he pulled the other vampire closer to him.

Wilson squirmed. Sleeping on the floor was becoming a more attractive alternative every second. House's body was pressed against his, and he could feel his erection. House began to rub against Wilson, thrusting with a slow steady rhythm, and Wilson froze.

"Relax," House whispered into his ear. "I'm not going to hurt you. I need this."

Wilson could feel House's breath on his neck. House had been holding him very tight, but his grip loosened.

"You owe me," House repeated, "Okay?"

House waited until Wilson nodded before he resumed. After a moment, House felt Wilson's tight muscles relax. Wilson even began to move against House, helping him along. It felt good, but the layers of clothing between them frustrated House.

When Wilson felt House tugging at his clothing, he panicked. He flailed against House, making a frantic effort to escape. Cursing, House let Wilson go.

"Damn it, Wilson," House said. "I wasn't going to rape you. You don't have to act like a nervous virgin on her wedding night."

Wilson was crying. Again.

Nothing about being a vampire came easily to Wilson. Ever since he had been initiated, Wilson had been emotionally volatile, subject to extreme highs and lows. When he'd been in love with Wilson, House had been quite indulgent when the other vampire was weepy. He would kiss and hug him when he had one of his crying spells until Wilson would forget all about whatever was making him unhappy. However, House didn't love Wilson anymore, so he didn't have to do anything to comfort him. He could just roll over and go to sleep.

Instead, House sat up in bed. He did not look at Wilson. He turned on the television, and began clicking through the channels. He stopped when he found on an old episode of Magnum PI, a program he knew Wilson liked. Wilson had stopped crying by the time Higgins's brother showed up. House yawned as the final credits rolled. He quickly glanced over at Wilson, who had regained his composure. House turned off the television and shut his eyes.

"House," Wilson said.

"Yes."

"I've been thinking about Cuddy."

"What about her?" House asked, burying his head in the covers.

"You're picking her because you loved her when you were human. The same reason you picked me. How do you know that it will work out any better this time?

Maybe the Professor was right. He didn't pick you because he had feelings for you. He made you his apprentice because he knew you'd make a good vampire. Maybe you should do the same. Pick someone you know would make a good vampire."

"Picking me didn't work out too well for the Professor," said House.

"13 would make a good vampire. You'd only have to ask her. I'm sure she'd jump at the chance because of the Huntington's. And she's very self-absorbed, and you said a good vampire is selfish."

"Why do want me to pick 13? You don't even like her, but you want to spend the rest of eternity with her. Yes, she's sexy, but so is Cuddy, and she's not as annoyingly smug."

"I'm not going to be around anyway," Wilson said. "I know you're going to leave me by the side of the road once you've found your new companion. That or kill me."

"I told you I wasn't going to kill you," House said.

"If not 13, how about Foreman, then? He's like you. He has the same arrogance and he doesn't care about other people's feelings. Good vampire qualities."

"And he's a sharp dresser. Looks damned good in a suit," House said.

"Always a plus."

"I could even make both of them vampires. Have a vampire threeway going on."

"If that's what you want."

"So you don't care that I plan to replace you."

"Of course I care," Wilson said.

"You just don't want your replacement to be Cuddy. You're jealous of her. First she gets a daughter, the family you always wanted, and now she gets me."

"It's not jealousy. No matter what we say, she's going to refuse to become one of us. I'll try to convince her, but I don't know whether I'll find the words. I hate being a vampire, and she'll be able to tell I'm lying."

"Even when you were human, no one could tell when you were lying," House said, "not even me."

"There's Rachel too. Cuddy isn't going to want to leave Rachel."

"Don't tell me you care about Rachel."

"I don't care about her, and neither do you, but Cuddy is still human. Cuddy cares about her. She's not going to leave her behind. She'll refuse for Rachel's sake."

"We could bring her along. Tell Cuddy we'll raise her and make her into a vampire when she's old enough."

"That's ridiculous," Wilson said. "Rachel would be a pet rather than a daughter. Vampires and humans can't love each other. There's a huge gap between what we are and what they are. Sometimes I think I'm on the wrong side of the gap, but at least I know it's there."

"So you must think I can't love Cuddy because she's human."

"I think you remember loving her when you both were human, and you will love her again when you're both vampires. Except I think she's going to refuse, and we're going to have to kill her. I don't want to do that. Killing strangers is hard enough."

"You didn't seem to find killing Hennessy all that hard."

"Who's Hennessy?"

"The man you killed a few hours ago. The one whose blood is under your fingernails."

"I didn't know his name."

"You never bother learning their names. You think that combing their hair and closing their eyes is enough. As if a pretty corpse matters to the relatives they've left behind. Though Hennessy wasn't very pretty..."

"Don't, House."

"Don't what? Don't mention the way you ripped that man to shreds like a feral dog? You tore out his throat and bit off his penis. You think I didn't notice that? You're the one who's always talking about giving people merciful deaths. Hennessy's death didn't look very merciful to me."

"I lost control."

"Not a good enough excuse, Wilson."

"I know."

"What if you lose control when I'm not around to look after you?"

Wilson was silent for a moment. His suspicions had been confirmed. House intended to leave him as soon as he initiated his new companion. Wilson would be alone in the world.

"Just consider, House. Anyone but Cuddy..."

"Cameron then."

"You're joking."

"Of course I'm joking. Cameron would make a worse vampire than you. Now, shut up and let me sleep."

"Good night, House."


	12. The Importance of Good Grooming

**The Importance of Good Grooming**

House's clothing requirements were simple. Oxford shirt, t-shirt, jeans, socks, underwear and running shoes. He knew his sizes and his brands and he knew what looked good on him. It took him only a few minutes to get the items he needed, which left him time to look for a present for Cuddy. He had decided on a necklace of lapis and jet beads, when a display case across the aisle caught his attention.

------------

House was right. They couldn't convince Lisa Cuddy of the wonders of life as a vampire looking like road-weary hobos. Still Wilson had never much cared for shopping for clothing, and now he had a new reason for his dislike. Too many mirrors.

Wilson hesitated, looking at the racks of ties. He picked one out with blue and burgundy stripes, and another with a subtle pattern in shades of brown and gold. Which one looked better on him? How could he tell when he couldn't see himself? He knew nothing about choosing ties. His wives and girlfriends had always bought his ties for him.

The saleswoman spotted Wilson's five-hundred-dollar watch peeking out from the cuff of his faded sweatshirt and felt a thrill of avaricious glee. She knew his type because she'd seen him many times before. He was a man who had been stunned by divorce. The wife he had spent the past few years ignoring had finally decided to leave him, and his male ego had suffered a crippling blow. He'd let himself go for a while, but now he was starting to pull himself together. He was back in the dating game and had to present a good appearance. He needed a whole new wardrobe, and she was just the person to sell him one.

She rushed over to serve him. A middle-aged woman was waving at her, trying to attract her attention, but she walked right by without giving her a glance.

"I _love _that striped tie on you," she said. Reaching for the tie, her hand deliberately brushed against his.

"You think so?" asked Wilson.

"Oh, yes," she took both ties from his hand and held the blue and burgundy one up against his collar. "You look powerful and distinguished. It tells the world that you're a man of influence – a real captain of industry."

"If you were a captain of industry - and Wilson isn't; he's not even a deckhand of industry - is that something you'd want the world to know? In this economy, wouldn't that be like admitting that you're the captain of the Titanic?"

The saleswoman turned around. House looked at her. Though he said and did nothing overtly threatening, she dropped her hand, which had been resting on Wilson's sleeve, and backed away. She was still holding both ties. House took the brown and gold one from her and handed it to Wilson.

"This one." He added sarcastically, "It brings out the colour of your eyes."

The shaken saleswoman went to the nearest till to ring up Wilson's order. House and Wilson trailed after her.

"I thought we were supposed to be keeping a low profile, blending in with the crowd."

"She was flirting with you."

"No kidding. To soften me up. She was trying to sell me a hundred and fifty dollar silk tie. She wasn't going to drag me into the back room to ravish me. I hate to destroy your illusions, but the real world isn't anything like Debbie Does Nordstrom's."

"You were flirting back."

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"Why should what I do matter to you anyway? You don't want me, but I can't even talk to anyone else. How is that fair?"

"You still belong to me."

"The vampire rules again. I belong to you, but not vice versa. You can do whatever you want, with whomever you want, but I have to ask your permission to brush my teeth.

I don't like being kept on a short leash, House, and Cuddy won't either. You could turn her into a vampire and then end up losing her anyway."

House gave Wilson a sharp glance. Wilson was becoming less obedient and more outspoken. House recognized that he had lost much of his influence over the younger vampire. Once Wilson had lost House's love, there was nothing else that House could take from him that had any meaning for him. It was difficult to discipline someone who had nothing left to lose.

----------------------

As dawn approached, Wilson became anxious. His anxiety had nothing to do with the deadly rays of the sun and everything to do with the bad dreams that tormented him day after day. He was afraid to fall asleep.

He sealed the doors and windows of their hotel room with duct tape and aluminum foil, but after that was done, he still had a lot of excess nervous energy to expend. House watched him with annoyance as he added a second, wholly unnecessary, layer of duct tape on top of the first.

"Go and take a shower," House said. "When you come out, I have a surprise for you."

Wilson looked at him dubiously.

"The shower will relax you," House said, "and you'll like the surprise. I promise."

"Your surprise wouldn't have anything to do with whips or chains or tying me up, would it?"

"Not unless you want it to," House teased.

Wilson looked worried.

"No, nothing like that," he gave Wilson a vampire smile that didn't reassure him at all.

---------------------

"They're beautiful," Wilson said, reaching out to touch the black velvet roll that protected House's prize. He looked up at House, silently asking his permission, and when House nodded slightly, he took out one of the pairs of scissors.

"That pair is made for left-handers. Feel how it sits in your hand. And watch this."

House took a sheet of the tissue paper that the department store had used to wrap their purchases. He removed his favourite piece – the straight edge razor – from the roll. He threw the tissue paper into the air. With one swift move, he cut it in half in midair.

"I could cut snowflakes out of toilet paper. It's sharp enough to split atoms."

"They're like surgical instruments. So perfectly designed," Wilson said.

"Professional quality. The salesman said Ken Paves has a set just like them."

"Who's Ken Paves?"

"I have no idea."

Wilson carefully replaced the pair of scissors in the roll and reached out for the razor that House still had in his hand. House wouldn't let him touch it.

"They must have cost a fortune. You'll start out your life with Cuddy sleeping under bridges."

"Still worth it, anyway."

"Yes," Wilson said. "Definitely worth it."

"They actually weren't that expensive though. The salesman decided to give me a deep discount. One hundred percent."

"You didn't..."

"Kill him. Right there in the middle of a brightly lit store full of customers. Of course not. All I had to do was smile at him and he was pleased to give me whatever I wanted."

House demonstrated the smile he had given the salesman. Wilson backed away and lowered his eyes. House replaced the razor in its proper compartment.

"They're a practical investment. I can't very well go to a barber shop and ask for a shave and haircut any more. I think the barber might notice something a bit different about me when he sits me down in front of his mirror."

"So you want me to cut your hair."

"I'll cut yours first, and then you can do mine. You should see yourself. You don't look like the respectable head of an oncology department. You look like the guy who sits outside the bus station playing the harmonica for spare change."

-----------------------------

House was enjoying himself. He held up a lock of Wilson's hair, and peered at it intently, measuring it by eye as he had seen his own barber do. With a frown of concentration, he cut it at precisely the right length. He hummed "O Sole Mio." The barber he was pretending to be was stereotypically Italian.

"Ecco la perfezione!"

He whipped the towel away from Wilson's neck, sending little snippets of hair flying. He took the special brush from the barber's roll and carefully swept Wilson's neck for any stray hairs. Wilson had shut his eyes, the better to enjoy the sensation of House's hands running through his hair. He opened them and was getting out of the chair, when House put a restraining hand on his shoulder.

"Not done yet. You still need a shave."

"I've got an electric shaver for that."

"It does a piss poor job. You could light a match on your whiskers. Sit back down. First, there's the astringent to open up your pores. It smells like peppermint. It's supposed to make your skin tingle. Is your skin tingling?"

"Yes."

"Just lean back, close your eyes and relax."

House went into the bathroom, got a facecloth and put it under the hot water tap. When it was almost too hot to touch, he wrapped it in another towel and wrung it out. Then he came back out and put the hot damp facecloth over Wilson's face.

"This is going to draw out all the dirt that's lurking in your pores. Considering all the time you spend in filthy alleys, there's going to be a lot. It's not too hot?"

Wilson shook his head, almost dislodging the facecloth.

"Then there's the lather. The shaving soap comes from the milk of Tuscan goats. Apparently Tuscan goats are much better than goats from anywhere else. The shaving brush is made from badger hair. British badgers. I don't know how they compare to Tuscan badgers."

For variety's sake, House was now humming La donna è mobile instead of O Sole Mio. He removed the facecloth and started to apply the thick rich lather with a sure stroke.

"Lift up your chin a bit. Okay, move your head to the left. This lather is supposed to soften the bristles and make them easier to cut."

"It smells good."

"Now comes the fun part," House said.

He took out the straight-edge razor and ran it against the strop, just for the effect. He knew it was already sharp enough.

House placed the lethally sharp blade against Wilson's cheek. With his left hand, he held Wilson's chin to steady his head. There was no need. Wilson was perfectly still, except when House told him to move his head left or right, up or down. House leaned down close to get a particularly stubborn patch of whiskers underneath Wilson's chin. Wilson lifted up his head, exposing his vulnerable neck, so that House could reach that spot.

This demonstration of his trust in House, despite everything that had happened between them, had more of an effect on House than he had anticipated. House's hand slipped, just a tiny bit, and a bead of blood appeared where the other vampire had been nicked. Without thinking, House licked away that droplet of blood.

Wilson tasted even better than he remembered.

The cut had been so quick, and the blade so sharp, that Wilson hadn't even noticed. He felt House tongue against his neck though.

"You were right. I like this surprise."

---------------------------

The taste of Wilson's blood still lingering in his mouth. The look of concentration in his soft brown eyes, as he leaned down to cut House's hair. The warm, familiar sound of his laughter. The feel of his breath, soft against the back of his neck, as he blew away the clippings that clung to House's collar. And most importantly, Wilson's smell - the exotic citrus-scented shower gel House had given him, and beneath it, like the undertone of a complex perfume, the dusty, papery odor of the vampire.

Vampires are sensual creatures. They don't resist temptation.

House had been gentle. He had asked rather than demanded, and he took only what Wilson freely gave him. He let Wilson set the pace. Slow and sweet. A long, steady slope leading ever upwards, taking them to giddy, vertiginous heights.

If it had just been lust, only the satisfaction of an appetite, it wouldn't have mattered. But that wasn't all that it had been.

------------

House's plan had been simple. He'd replace a flawed companion with one more suitable to the role. He had never intended to abandon Wilson entirely. (Although threatening to leave him by the side of the road was a good disciplinary tool, and about the only one that still worked.) He had recognized that Wilson's devotion to him was too valuable an asset to be thrown away. He had planned on demoting him instead. Cuddy would be the one he trusted most and relied upon, his "first wife". She would have authority over Wilson, his "concubine", and over any other vampires, male or female, he decided to add to their family.

Suddenly his simple plan had become much more complicated. Messy, inconvenient emotions, feelings he didn't want to have, got in the way. What would happen to his neat organizational structure if he loved his concubine more than his wife?

--------------

House had once loved Wilson, and his love had cost him dearly. House had been the apprentice of a powerful vampire, who had offered to share his knowledge, the product of centuries of observation, in return for his obedience. This vampire, who called himself the Professor of Esoteric Studies, had warned him that Wilson was not suited for vampire life, and he would only distract him from his studies. He'd been right.

When House had discovered the Professor and Wilson together, he knew that he would have to kill one or the other or both. He'd attacked the Professor. When he'd last seen the Professor, his injuries had made him little more that a walking corpse, mindless and animated only by hatred. House didn't mourn the Professor, who had been a thoroughly unpleasant creature, but he mourned the loss of his knowledge every day.

Of course, the Professor was a relic from a pre-rational age. Mixed in with the good solid information that House had craved had been a whole lot of speculation, opinion, and even outright falsehood. He expected House to believe his wild stories.

The Professor told House that he had once been the vampire king of a small country in Central Asia. Nobles and courtiers willingly gave him their sons and daughters to feed upon, knowing that he would reward them well for their sacrifices.

He said he had paid a witch three silver coins to put a curse on his enemy, and one month later, his enemy's wife had given birth to a child with the head of a wolf.

He claimed to have visited his mistress's dreams to learn all of her secrets. One night, she dreamt of another man, so as soon as he returned, the Professor reached for his sword and cut off her head as she lay sleeping.

Nonsense, of course. Exaggerations and lies. Although not too long ago, House would have said that vampires were nonsense as well. He wasn't quite as sure as he used to be about what was and was not possible.

------------------------

House woke when Wilson stirred in his arms. The other vampire was mumbling in his sleep, his words too indistinct for even House's keen vampiric hearing to make out.

House recognized the signs that Wilson was having another bad dream. He went to wake Wilson up but then hesitated. Wilson needed to dream; the REM stage was a natural part of the sleeping cycle, and he'd suffer if deprived of it. What Wilson really needed was a way to change his dreams.

The Professor claimed to know how to enter another's dreams, and he had taught his method to House. Of course, House was sceptical. Still trying out his method couldn't hurt. It was an experiment. A rational way to prove or disprove an hypothesis.

Physical contact first, skin to skin. A map. So that when House entered the world of dreams, he could make his way to Wilson's country. Without a map, he could wander forever in the mist and never find it.

House held Wilson close, his chest against Wilson's back. His head fit comfortably against Wilson's shoulder. He laid his whiskery cheek against Wilson's smooth-shaven one.

Next, blood. A passport. Good enough to get past the border guards but no further.

House kissed Wilson.

"I need your blood, okay?" he said softly. "Just a nip."

He bit him, quickly and cleanly piercing the earlobe of the sleeping vampire. Wilson's eyes fluttered, but he didn't wake up. House drank.

Finally, the consent of the dreamer. An invitation to the king's palace.

"Wilson," he whispered in the sleeping vampire's ear. "I'm coming to help you. When I knock on your door, let me in."

House closed his eyes and fell asleep.


	13. A Visit to the Castle

House was in the middle of a plain which stretched as far as the eye could see, which wasn't far at all, since this part of the world of dreams was perpetually covered by fog and mist. House had a staff in his hand and was carrying a backpack. He was wearing hiking boots, thick furry socks, knee-length shorts with a multitude of pockets, a t-shirt with a picture of a grinning cartoon kangaroo, and a wide-brimmed hat decorated with little dangling bits of cork on strings. House wondered whether it was his own mind or Wilson's which had provided that last little touch of fashion humiliation. Or perhaps, given that this part of the dream world was the common property of everyone asleep, Robert Chase had a hand in it.

House opened the backpack and pulled out his supplies. A thermos, a couple of sandwiches, a few apples, an energy bar, emergency blanket, extra pairs of socks and underwear, a roll of toilet paper, matches, a Swiss army knife, a small hatchet, and, at the very bottom, what he had been looking for - a map to the world of dreams.

Where House was now was clearly marked on the map with an arrow and the words "you are here". Wilson's land of dreams was also clearly marked with a bright gold star. And the map would have been very helpful indeed if House had any idea of which direction was which in the world of dreams. There were no landmarks in the fog to guide him, and he didn't have a compass.

House stood very still, thinking, and as he stood he began to feel a slight pull. He turned in that direction and the pull became stronger. He took a couple of steps towards it and the fog lifted slightly, revealing a familiar and well-trodden path. It was the road to his own land of dreams. House's dream country was not a particularly happy or comfortable place, since House had his own fair share of bad dreams, but it was home. He was tempted to continue down that path.

Now that he knew the direction of a landmark, he could orient himself. He looked where his own land appeared on the map, and then strode off in the direction where Wilson's land had to be.

---------------

House had expected Wilson's border to be well-defended. Watch towers, high walls topped with barbed wire and broken glass, uniformed men with machine guns, snarling German shepherds – that sort of thing. Maybe a moat with crocodiles. Instead there was just a high smooth wall with spring flowers planted at its base. House approached the wrought iron gate that appeared to be the only entrance. This gate was guarded by a lone sentry. He was sitting in a lawn chair, dozing. A half dozen empty cans of beer littered the ground at his feet.

The sentry lifted his head, and House could see that he was not a man exactly, but something halfway between a human and a boar. His face was covered with thick bristles and he had a pair of menacing tusks. His beady little eyes were covered over with a white film, and House realized he was blind.

"Hand over your passport," the boar said. He didn't bother to get out of the lawn chair. He just held out his hoof.

House reached into one of the many pockets in his shorts and pulled out his passport. It was bound in red leatherette and sealed with scarlet wax. The boar used one of his tusks to slit open the wax and open it up. Wilson's signature, written in blood, was on the bottom of the document. The guard held the document up to his snout. He snorted and sniffed.

"The boss's blood all right," the guard said. "Did he give it to you, or did you steal it from him?"

"He gave it to me," said House, not entirely truthfully.

He had asked Wilson for his blood, but Wilson had been asleep at the time and hadn't answered.

"Hmmmm," said the boar doubtfully. "None of my business either way, I guess. You might as well go in. Don't know why you want to. Things aren't very pleasant in there right now."

He closed his eyes and leaned back in the armchair.

"Don't you have to unlock the gate?" House asked.

The key's on a nail next to the gate. Just reach through the bars and put it back when you're done with it."

---------------

Wilson's land of dreams was in bright sunlight, and House flinched. However, dream sunlight seemed to have no effect on him. House stepped forward and almost fell. He rubbed his leg through the cloth of his shorts, feeling scarred tissue and muscle loss. In Wilson's dream, his transformation into a vampire had never happened. He was still Dr. Gregory House, disabled diagnostician. He used his staff for support.

House was on a tree-lined street in a small American town. He wondered whether this was the town where Wilson had grown up or whether this place had been cobbled together from Wilson's memories of television sit-coms. Wilson had never talked much about his early life, but what he had said about his past had always seemed a little off to House, as if Wilson were trying to imagine himself a perfect, idyllic childhood to replace his real one. In the way of dreams, House knew that Wilson's house was the grey one with white trim, even though he had never seen it before. He knocked on the door, and Wilson's third wife, Julie, answered.

"What are you doing here?" House asked. "I would have expected little Jimmy Wilson or maybe little Jimmy's mother."

"We all have to live somewhere and I have as much right to live here as anyone else. After all, I was his _wife_," said Julie bitterly, "though you'd never know it, since he hardly ever dreams of me every more."

"Yes, your character is tragically under-used," House agreed sarcastically.

"There was a time when I was on almost every night. I'd re-enact the dumping scene, the one where I'd hand him his suitcase and tell him to go. Sometimes in of a classroom full of medical students or in front his parents. Once naked in the middle of a field with a herd of black and white cows watching us. Don't ask me what that was about."

"I'm looking for Wilson. Where is he?"

"The last time I was on, I was part of a mob. I had to wave around a pitchfork. Can you believe it? Me, reduced to a pitchfork-waving extra. I had to stand in the back so he wouldn't recognize me."

"Angry villagers with pitchforks," said House. "I'm guessing Wilson's in a castle. Probably one with resident bats and a drawbridge."

"Of course, he's in the castle. You should know that."

She looked at House suspiciously.

"There's something odd about you."

House didn't have time to waste talking to someone who didn't really exist. He left her without saying goodbye. He walked down the empty street, going as quickly as his bad leg would allow.

"You're the other House, aren't you? The one from outside. You're the one who's responsible!"

She shook her fist, an angry mob of one, but House didn't turn around.

-----------------------------------

Halfway down the block, the street disappeared, and House found himself walking through a dismal forest at night. An owl hooted atmospherically.

A light was shining through the trees. House parted the undergrowth and headed towards it. He saw a castle, a forbidding stone edifice on the top of a hill. The light came from a single torch that illuminated its entrance. House limped up the cobbled road that led to the big oak door of the castle. There was an iron knocker, a grotesque thing in the shape of a wolf's head.

House used the door knocker. He could hear the sound echoing through empty rooms and then footsteps. After a moment, a hatch opened up in the door. Amber smiled at him.

"Dr. House," she said. "I wasn't expecting you."

"And I certainly didn't expect to ever see you again, considering you're dead."

"The dead live on here," Amber said, "even after they are tragically killed because of someone else's selfishness."

"I didn't kill you," House said. "It was the truck driver's fault."

"But it's much more emotionally satisfying to blame you than some truck driver I've never even met."

"Let me in. I'm here to see Wilson."

"You're looking at him. Everything and everyone in the dream is part of the dreamer. That means that I'm part of Wilson."

"You're a minor character in his dream. I want Wilson."

"I'm not particularly interested in giving you what you want," Amber said. "I'm going to need a better reason than that to let you in."

"I know Wilson's in trouble. These bad dreams of his aren't getting any better. I'm here to help him...you... all of you."

"You're here to help Wilson. That's funny. Isn't it always the other way around? Isn't Wilson always looking after you?"

"No, that's not true. Didn't I risk my life to try to save his girlfriend?"

"I don't know anything about that. Amber was unconscious at the time."

"You said you were Wilson, and Wilson knows what I did."

Amber smiled, "I didn't say I was Wilson; I said I was part of Wilson. I don't know everything he knows."

"I'm trying to have a logical argument with a figment of Wilson's imagination," House muttered.

"And you're losing."

"I know Wilson's in trouble. And the one thing that the Amber and I had in common was that we both cared about Wilson. The real Amber would let me in."

"You _used to_ care about Wilson. You told him you didn't love him anymore," Amber reminded House. "I think I know why you're really here. Triage."

"Triage?"

"You want to see how badly Wilson is hurt, don't you? You want to see if he's still salvageable – whether you can still use him or whether he's too badly damaged."

"That's not..."

"...the only reason," Amber interrupted. "Curiosity, too. Wanting to learn all Wilson's secrets. Explore a part of him that no one else knows. Own every little bit of him, every thought in his head."

"I'm here to rescue him!" House snapped irritably.

"Really? Are you going to take the magic sword out of your backpack and slay the dragon?" Amber teased. "You're not in a video game or a storybook. This place isn't real to you, but it's real to Wilson. You can do him harm here. I'm not going to let you hurt him anymore. You have to leave."

"Amber..."

"Don't you mean Cutthroat Bitch? Good bye, Greg."

She slammed shut the door of the hatch. House could hear the sound of her heels echoing on the stone floor of the castle. He could hear other sounds as well. Screams and moans.

House pounded on the door with his fist, but no one answered.

"Wilson, I'm here!" he called out.

It began to rain. Icy cold water soaked his thin t-shirt and made the jaunty brim of his hat droop.

Finally the noises stopped. House turned away from the oak door, and suddenly he was on the plain of mists again. He could feel his own dream country tugging at him, and this time, he didn't try to resist its gravitational pull. He let it lead him into his own dreams.


	14. Breaking Up is Hard to Do

**Breaking Up is Hard to Do**

Gregory House, once the foremost diagnostician in the United States, was now a vampire. House had a new life free of the constant pain caused by a muscle infarction in his leg. No longer would House have to measure out his life pill by pill, trying to find the perfect dosage and medication that would enable him to live a tolerable life without endangering his health or clarity of mind. Ice-slicked streets and steep flights of stairs were no longer dangerous obstacles. His transformed body would do whatever he asked of it. An ancient vampire, whose real name House never knew, had offered him a gift that only someone who had spent years enduring chronic pain could appreciate. The other benefits of being a vampire, including an immunity to disease and the effects of old age, were inconsequential in comparison.

Of course, the gift came with a price tag. House had to leave his old life behind. His profession, which had meant so much to him, had to be sacrificed, and so had most of his attachments. He'd walked away from friends, family and colleagues. All except for one – James Wilson – his best and truest friend. House took Wilson with him.

-----------------------------------

James Wilson looked up at the ceiling of the hotel room. Silent tears trickled from his eyes. Although the details of his nightmare faded away from his memory almost instantly, the feelings the dream had created lingered. Amber, his deceased girlfriend, had been part of it, and she had been just as strong and brave in his dream as she had been in reality. However, her courage had not saved her. She had died in his arms again, this time killed by the cruel old vampire who had initiated House, and Wilson's sense of loss was overwhelming.

He looked at House, sleeping beside him, and thought of waking him so he wouldn't be alone in the dark, but Wilson knew that would be a bad idea. He had decided to leave House, but hadn't told the other vampire yet. While the sun shone, he and House would be trapped together in the hotel room, and he wanted to avoid a long strung-out confrontation. He'd let House know he was going just after nightfall, so that he would be able to make a clean break.

Carefully, silently, Wilson eased himself out of bed. He looked down at House, who he knew to be a light sleeper, but the other vampire did not stir. Wilson got his overnight bag, pulled on the first pair of pants and t-shirt he found, and rummaged for the paperback novel he was reading. The novel was a book that someone had left behind in a previous hotel room, and though it wasn't Wilson's usual reading fare, at least it offered some distraction. He carried the book into the bathroom, shut the door, and then turned on the light so that he could read without disturbing House. He draped a towel over the mirror above the sink so he would not see his own lack of reflection (which always disturbed him), and he sat on the bathmat on the floor and opened his book.

Wilson couldn't concentrate on the words on the page. His mind kept drifting back to the previous evening, which had been as close to perfect as Wilson was ever likely to experience. He and House had connected physically, emotionally and mentally. He'd looked into House's clear blue eyes and he had thought he saw real love there, not just the fickle vampire kind.

He'd been deluding himself of course. He very much doubted that vampires were even capable of genuine affection. Still, it had been such a nice delusion. It was so tempting to give in to it.

Break-up sex is always the best, Wilson thought cynically - just knowing that this is the last time I'll ever touch him and taste him and feel him inside me. A soupçon of pre-emptive nostalgia really spices up the old love life.

Wilson's head was nodding over his book when House entered the bathroom. Wilson looked up at him with exhausted, red-rimmed eyes. Wordlessly, House pulled Wilson to his feet and led him back to bed. He held Wilson until he fell asleep.

-----------------------------

When Wilson woke up, it was almost dusk. House was already fully dressed and packed for the road. Wilson's eyes were almost glued shut with sleep, his hair was a mess, and he was wearing a sweaty, wrinkled t-shirt that should have been washed a week ago.

House leaned over and kissed his cheek, a gesture of affection that Wilson hadn't been expecting.

"Hurry up and get dressed," House said. "We have to leave as soon as the sun goes done to get to Cuddy's before she goes to bed. With her new baby, I bet she's asleep before ten."

Wilson stood up. Nervously, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm not going," he said. "Recruiting Cuddy is your project, not mine."

"Yes, you are. You said you'd help me."

"That's not true. You _ordered_ me to help you, and I've done that," Wilson said. "I did half the driving and I gave you all the money from my kills.

You don't need me there anyway. If you want Cuddy to give up her whole life to join you, then you have to be the one to persuade her. If she really is in love with you, then your words will count more to her than anything that I could say."

House shook his head.

"You can talk a woman's language, Wilson; all that emotional stuff that turns an otherwise sane woman into a little puddle of compliant goo," House said. "Admittedly, after your opening gambit, the rest of your game must be pretty lousy, judging by the number of failed relationships you've had, but that's just because you can't be trusted to keep your pants zipped."

"Do you think that insulting me makes it more likely that I'll do what you want?"

House glared at Wilson. Wilson lowered his eyes and backed away. When Wilson spoke again, he adopted a more conciliatory tone.

"It'll hurt too much, House, whichever way she decides. I just can't do it. I can give you something to show her though – something that will convince her that you're sincere and you really care. Just don't get angry when you see it. Take a deep breath and count to ten."

Wilson went to the paperback novel resting on the nightstand. He had been using an envelope for a bookmark, and inside the envelope was a photograph. He handed it to House.

"Yes, this is something personal, and I wasn't supposed to keep anything personal that could identify me, so you've caught me."

House looked at the photo. Taken at some anonymous charity dinner, it was a picture of House, Wilson and Cuddy. Wilson and House were both wearing black tie and Cuddy was wearing a dark red velvet evening gown that showed off the swell of her breasts. All three of them looked very happy. There were tiny little wrinkles in the corners of Lisa's eyes. He'd always loved Cuddy's laugh lines, although Cuddy, who called them crow's feet, had been insulted when he told her that.

"This was one of your cancer fund-raising events, wasn't it?" House said.

Wilson nodded. He was relieved that House didn't seem to be angry,

"You can tell her that you took this picture with you. It was the only thing you kept from your old life. You looked at it every day and thought of her. You planned all along to come back for her; you just wanted to wait until you knew she'd be safe."

"_You_ were the only thing I kept from my old life."

Wilson wasn't sure whether that was meant to be a joke.

"I think I remember this evening," House said. "You came with Julie and I came with Cuddy. Julie stayed for exactly one hour and then she said she had a migraine and left. I figured that you two had made an arrangement in advance, and I wondered what you had to give to Julie just to get her to show up for that hour."

"New curtains for the kitchen," Wilson said.

"And Cuddy spent most of the evening working the room, buttering up the local philanthropists and showing her face to her loyal minions. Which left the two of us. You got drunk."

"You had just as much to drink as I did!"

"Yes, but I didn't get drunk. I could handle my liquor. You used to get drunk from a whiff of the barmaid's rag.

You didn't want to go home to Julie, and who could blame you, so you came back to my apartment, and we ordered Chinese takeaway at two-thirty in the morning. You slept on my couch, and when I got up the next morning..."

"Afternoon," Wilson corrected.

"..you were making us French toast with maple syrup. Where did you find the maple syrup anyway?"

"They sell it in supermarkets, along with eggs, milk, butter, French bread and cinnamon."

"You're spoiling the magic," House said. "The toast was golden brown and perfect, and you stood there with a big smile on your face and watched me eat it. I said, 'if Julie doesn't want you, I'll take you.'"

"Not one of your better jokes."

"I was _serious_," House said. "It was a genuine offer."

There was an awkward silence. House expected Wilson to head towards the bathroom to shower, but he just stood there, staring at the floor.

"I'm leaving you," Wilson said abruptly.

He raised his head briefly to look at House, and then returned his gaze to the floor, giving House time to absorb the information.

For a second, all House felt was surprise. Then House's vampire instincts kicked in. He had a vivid mental image of himself fastening his fangs on Wilson's neck and drinking his blood (so delicious) until Wilson became limp and woozy and he didn't have the strength to run away.

House fought against this urge. It would satisfy House on some primal level, but it wouldn't solve anything. As soon as he recovered, Wilson would just try to leave again. House dug his long, sharp fingernails into the palms of his hand until the mental image faded.

"I'm unhappy and you're unhappy with me. It's for the best," Wilson continued.

"Really? Explain to me how being alone for the rest of your very long life is going to be so much better than being with me and Cuddy."

"I won't be alone. I know there must be other vampires out there. There have to be ways that vampires get in touch with each other – maybe on the Internet."

"Yeah, you're going to meet someone terrific on VDate!" House said. "Wilson, most vampires – the ones that survive – are like the Professor. They're strong and cunning and they despise weak vampires like you. They think it's their duty to cull inferior specimens who can't protect themselves. You have to stay away from other vampires."

"So your argument is that I'm supposed to stay with you just because there's no other alternative. Because it's better to be miserable with you than miserable alone."

"No, you're going to stay with me because you love me. You need someone to love, Wilson, and I'm it. It would be a lot easier for you if you loved somebody like Cameron or one of your wives, but, too bad, you're stuck with me."

House took a step towards Wilson, who backed away. Wilson growled, a low, sound deep in his throat, warning House not to come any closer.

"Please, Wilson, I need you," House said.

-----------------------------

Wilson didn't look at all pleased but at least he was there, sitting in the passenger seat of their stolen S.U.V., looking out at the familiar streets of Princeton, New Jersey. House pulled up in front of Cuddy's house.

"You can stay in the S.U.V. if you want," House said, "but I was thinking that it would be better if you came in. You can go into the kitchen, while I talk to Cuddy."

Wilson nodded and followed House to Cuddy's door. House pushed the doorbell.


	15. Reunion

There had been changes in Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital since two of its department heads had disappeared.

Another oncologist had agreed to act as temporary head in the absence of Dr. Wilson. Wilson was missed, but the Oncology Department continued to function without him.

The Department of Diagnostic Medicine had not fared as well. It had been created specifically for Dr. Gregory House and no one else could take his place. Dr. Eric Foreman, who had been with House the longest, suggested that he step in temporarily, but Foreman's judgement was suspect. Instead of appointing him interim head, the Hospital Board asked for his resignation. The last Cuddy had heard, Foreman was working as the chief medical officer for a prison in upstate New York, the only job he'd been able to find without a letter of recommendation.

Foreman's romance with Remy Hadley, another of House's fellows, had ended when he moved. Hadley consoled herself in her usual way – with casual sex and recreational drugs. Hadley was caught with a great many of these drugs in her possession outside a lesbian bar in New York. This wasn't the first time Hadley had been busted, but the last time her beauty, tragic past and uncertain future had swayed the arresting officer. He had let her off with a warning. Unfortunately for her, her arresting officer this time was a heterosexual female who had no interest in hearing her life story. Hadley had been charged, and the hospital had suspended her.

The remaining two members of House's department had gone their separate ways. Taub had returned to cosmetic surgery, and Kutner had decided to take a sabbatical from medicine. He was travelling across India, his parents' homeland.

In the absence of facts, ugly rumours, impossible to prove or disprove, surrounded the disappearances of the two doctors, making other doctors and staff uneasy and possible corporate donors skittish. Dr. House, diagnostic genius, had been PPTH's biggest asset in attracting donations. He had been what distinguished this hospital from others in the area. Without him, donations dropped. The hospital had been forced to make budget cuts. Clinic hours had already been reduced, and, if things did not improve, the clinic would have to be closed entirely.

Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine, had thought that having Dr. House on staff had made her job difficult. His disappearance made it almost impossible.

-----------------------------------

Cuddy was late home again and her babysitter, who had had plans for the evening, had not been mollified by the extra twenty dollars Cuddy gave her. Cuddy could see that she'd have to find another sitter in the near future. She'd lost count of how many she'd gone through.

Rachel was crying, teething again, and how many teeth did she need, for God's sake? Surely she ought to be done by now. Cuddy kicked off her high heels and went upstairs to the nursery. She found Rachel's pacifier on the floor, where she must have thrown it, and went to the bathroom to wash it with hot water. She used to sterilize the pacifiers properly until she saw all the other things that Rachel put into her mouth. She popped the pacifier in her daughter's mouth, and then headed back downstairs.

She hadn't eaten since the slice of toast with low-cal margarine she'd had for breakfast, but she was too tired to cook, and even calling for takeout seemed to require more energy than she had. She settled for a couple of Rachel's arrowroot cookies. Cuddy lay down on the couch trying to read a report on the costs and benefits of outsourcing food services, but she was too tired to focus her eyes properly.

She was almost asleep when the doorbell rang.

------------------------

Of course, Cuddy had imagined this moment many times, ever since House had gone missing. She'd pictured him on her doorstep, and there he was, just as she had imagined, grinning at her, as if nothing had happened. Wilson was there too, a few steps behind, looking uncomfortable. At least Wilson seemed to realize that four months without a word required some kind of apology or explanation.

Then Cuddy hugged House, and there were tears of relief in her eyes that he was safe and alive. Wilson was still hanging back, so Cuddy reached out to him, and then Wilson was in her arms. She opened her door wide, but for some reason they both seemed reluctant to enter – as if the passing months had made them strangers who needed a formal invitation.

"Come in," she said, and she led them into the living room. House and Wilson sat on the couch, leaving the stuffed armchair for Cuddy.

"If you're going to ask for your jobs back I can't promise you anything. You've upset and worried a lot of people. Even the police were involved. They found your cane at Wilson's house. They had this ridiculous theory that Wilson killed you and then killed himself. They said you would never have left it behind."

"I left it behind because I don't need a cane anymore," House said.

"I can see that. You're not even favouring your good leg. Is that why you left? To pursue some kind of unorthodox, probably illegal, treatment?" She frowned and turned to Wilson. "What about you? Your patients depended on you. Your behaviour was highly unprofessional."

Cuddy's husky voice was reproachful.

"It would be even more unprofessional," said Wilson, "for me to see them in my current condition. I couldn't trust myself to act in their best interests anymore."

Cuddy nodded. She thought she knew what Wilson meant. She knew that he had suffered from depression in the past.

Wilson looked at House, who nodded, and then Wilson stood up.

"I'll go to the kitchen and make some tea while House fills you on things. You're teabags are still in the right-hand cupboard?"

Cuddy nodded, "Coffee for me, though, if you don't mind."

She noticed that as Wilson walked between House and the coffee table, House reached out as he edged past. House's fingers just brushed against him for a fraction of a second, but Cuddy knew in that instant that they had a physical relationship.

----------------------

While Wilson waited for the water to boil, he searched Cuddy's cupboards for sugar or honey. Hot, sweet tea was good for shock, and that was why Wilson was making tea instead of the coffee Cuddy had requested, but all Cuddy seemed to have was artificial sweetener. Finally he found a couple of paper sachets of sugar from a fast food place lurking at the bottom of Cuddy's junk drawer.

He came out bearing the cup of tea just in time.

"She doesn't believe me," House said. "She wants proof."

"Don't prove it to her the same way you did with me," Wilson said. "It's much too dangerous not to mention upsetting. Where's a mirror? One of those little ones women use to check their makeup would be okay."

"You think the lack of reflection thing won't upset her. You get freaked out and you've been a vampire for months!"

Cuddy took a sip of the hot sweet tea.

"There's a mirror in my wallet," she said. "I'm not finding this joke at all funny."

Wilson spotted Cuddy's purse and shoes where she had discarded them, at the bottom of the stairs. He retrieved Cuddy's wallet and handed it to her.

"At least I hope you're joking," Cuddy said, "because if you're not, you're both delusional. Folie à deux."

"A mirror won't reflect our images because we're vampires," House said.

"There's an ugly black swirl where our faces should be," Wilson said, as if the thought distressed him, and House gave him a sharp glance, warning him off that particular topic.

Cuddy looked at her own tired face in the tiny mirror and then House got up and stood next to her, and she adjusted the mirror so that it should reflect House's face. It didn't. There was tarnish on the mirror or maybe the angle was wrong. She looked closer into the mirror, into the centre of that dark swirling fog, feeling queasy. Then she blinked and her mind edited out what it did not want to see – something inexplicable and strange – and put what should have been there in its place.

"I see your face. Of course, I see your face," Cuddy said.

She lifted the cup of hot, sweet tea to her mouth, but her hand was shaking so badly that most of the tea ended up on her blouse.

----------------------------------------

Lisa Cuddy, pale and shaky, was lying on the couch, covered by an afghan. Wilson was in the kitchen warming up a can of chicken noodle soup for her. House sat down on the couch next to her, not quite touching her. Still he could smell her, the meatiness of her, and he could feel the heat radiating from her body. It was unsettling.

"I have a photograph of us – the three of us – from before. Wilson and I don't photograph any more, of course."

House took the photograph out from his pants pocket. It was a bit creased now. He showed it to Lisa.

"You've been my ideal woman, Lisa, ever since I first met you in university. You were so smart and confident and sexy. You still are. We had one night together and then it was over. I only got one chance with you, and I screwed it up."

"You didn't screw it up," Cuddy said. "I thought you were brilliant and sophisticated and handsome. You were older than I was and you'd been all over the world. You were very impressive. You were just a bit too intense for me. You took everything so seriously."

"I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you."

"I was twenty years old, House. I wasn't thinking about life-long commitments. I was focused on grades and exams and getting into a decent med school. It wasn't the right time for a serious relationship."

"And now ..."

"I've just found out that vampires are real and there are two of them in my house. I can't deal with anything else."

Cuddy sat up when Wilson came in bearing chicken soup and crackers. He set it down on the coffee table in front of her... A glance passed between the two vampires – permission asked for and granted? – and Wilson moved to sit next to House on the couch. She noticed how still vampires were in repose. They never fidgeted. Every movement was swift, controlled and precise. She felt their otherness for the first time.

"So what is being a vampire like?" she asked, between spoonfuls of soup.

House said, "We're stronger and faster than you are, and we self-select for intelligence, so as a group we're smarter than you are. We heal quickly and we are immune to disease and age. Theoretically, I could live for as long as the human race continues."

"Yes, I can see that you'd need your food supply," Cuddy said drily. "You must see yourselves as ranchers and we're a herd of big, fat, stupid cows headed for slaughter."

"We kill because he have to. We have our ecological niche, like every species." House said sharply.

"I'm sorry if I offended you. " Cuddy said. "I'll try another analogy. You live among us, and we do not recognize you for what you are. You are not part of us, and you do us harm. You're like cancer cells in the body."

Wilson got up, picked up Cuddy's half-full bowl of soup, and went into the kitchen. House glared at her. Cuddy shivered. This wasn't her old friend House; this was a predator, and she was his prey, and she couldn't afford to forget that.

Then House stood up and followed Wilson into the kitchen, and she could hear the low voices of the two vampires, although she could not make out the words. Cuddy got up and headed for the staircase, ready to run upstairs, grab her daughter and escape. She was out of the living room and halfway down the hall when House returned.

"Where are you going?" he asked suspiciously.

"I have to use the bathroom upstairs. The ground floor toilet isn't working," Cuddy said. "I'll just be a minute."

She went upstairs and headed for Rachel's nursery. She wrapped her daughter in a blanket and picked her up, praying that she would not wake up. She opened the window and looked out. It was a long drop – two and a half storeys since her lot was on a slope. With luck, she could make it herself without spraining an ankle or breaking something, but it was too risky with a baby.

Reluctantly she abandoned her plan. She put Rachel back in her crib, and headed for the bathroom. When she came back, House and Wilson were waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs. House had his arms around Wilson and he was nuzzling the back of his neck.

Cuddy felt a rush of anger. Twenty minutes ago House had been professing his undying love for her and now he was making out with his boyfriend in front of her. Even House had to realize how totally inappropriate his behaviour was. Except of course, House wasn't House anymore, and vampires were cold-blooded killers who didn't have any standards of behaviour.

----------------------

Wilson was outside waiting in their S.U.V., and Cuddy should have felt safer with one half of the vampire menace out of the house, but she didn't. When Wilson was around, she realized, part of House's attention was always on the other vampire, but now House was focussed entirely on her.

"Becoming a vampire is like a caterpillar becoming a butterfly. As a human being, I had confidence in my profession but my personal life was always a mess, because I didn't believe in myself or know what I wanted and needed. There's a kind of clarity about being a vampire that's hard to explain. I love being what I am."

"Does Wilson love being a vampire too?"

"Wilson is having some minor difficulties adjusting," House admitted. "I had to rush the transformation process with him because I was on a deadline. I didn't have time to explain it to him properly."

"So the transformation can go wrong."

"If you are fully committed to the process, if you follow my instructions exactly, and if you trust me completely, nothing will go wrong."

"And if I refuse?"

"I'm offering you a better life than you could ever dream of. There's no reason to refuse."

"That's not an answer."

"When I came for Wilson, I told him if he refused I'd have to kill him. I was telling the truth, because there was another vampire waiting for me, and I knew he'd kill Wilson if I didn't. Those were his rules.

I want you to accept because you want to, not because you're afraid to say no. If you promise not to tell anyone that vampires exist, I won't hurt you."

"What about Wilson? You two are together, aren't you?"

"Wilson's mine," said House. "I'm not sharing."

"I wasn't asking you to," said Cuddy. "What I meant was, how does Wilson feel about me joining you? "

"Wilson likes you," House said.

"He's not jealous?"

"You don't understand vampire relationships. Weaker vampires like Wilson accept that their protectors are going to have other disciples. Wilson isn't jealous at all."

"Maybe you want him to be?"

Suddenly, instead of being afraid, Cuddy just felt very tired. Damn, House, she thought, showing up on my doorstep and scaring me witless, instead of just picking up a telephone and asking me for relationship advice.

"What exactly are you trying to accomplish here, House?" she asked. "Are you trying to hurt Wilson? Is this expedition of yours a test to see whether he loves you or not? Or do you just like taking long cross-country trips?

Don't tell me you've come back for me, because I won't believe you. I may be your ideal woman. but you don't love me. In your whole romantic pitch, you didn't use the word love once."

-----------------------------------------

Wilson had turned on the interior light and was reading his paperback. He put it down as House opened the driver's side door.

"You're draining the battery," House complained, switching the light off. He turned the key in the ignition and pulled away from the curb.

"Where's Cuddy? You didn't have to kill her?"

"You're always accusing me of killing people. I've never killed anyone except for food, which is more than you can say."

"So she's going to join us?"

"No, she wants to raise her daughter. I decided not to kill her. She won't tell anybody about us. She promised and besides she's an intelligent professional. She knows that reporting an encounter with real-life vampires would be career suicide."

House drove past his old apartment. He expected his car and his motorcycle to be in the parking lot, where he'd left them, but both were gone. He wondered what had happened to them.

"Anyplace you want to see again before we leave?" House asked. "We can drive by the hospital if you like."

"No thanks," Wilson said. "You know she invited us in, and she never revoked the invitation. That means that we can go back anytime we want."

"We could come back in a few years, when Rachel's a troubled teen who can't stand her mother. We could ask her again then," House said.

"Or we could just drop by for a visit. I wouldn't mind having someone else to talk to. Just the two of us all the time can be a little cramped. Though it would be a lot easier talking to her if she were a vampire."

"I bet she would have tasted delicious," House said, "like a fine wine."

He noticed Wilson's frown.

"Though not as good as you, of course."


	16. Happy Birthday to House

**Happy Birthday to House**

**Author's note:** Written in (belated) honour of Hugh Laurie's 50th birthday. House, Wilson and Cuddy property of David Shore et al.

It was only June, but summer had already taken hold and House's room was warm and stuffy. A fan beat the heavy, stagnant air, adding its own purr to the ugly noise of late afternoon traffic and the calmer rhythm of Wilson's steady breathing. House shifted position restlessly and pulled down the thin sheet that covered him. Beside him, Wilson turned over, eyelids fluttering, and mumbled something indistinct. House put his hand on the small of his back and that gentle touch was enough, this time, to ward off Wilson's nightmares.

House felt content. The only thing that could possibly have improved the situation (aside from a good air conditioner, of course) was if Cuddy had been there too. He pictured the three of them, but the image his drowsy mind supplied was oddly innocent – more sleeping puppies huddled in a basket than Roman orgy. All the people he loved. Always with him. Forever.

House shut his eyes, imagining her – low, raspy voice; dark, curly hair; compassionate eyes; the soft generous curves of her body pressed next to his...

"You awake, House?" Wilson whispered.

"I am now."

"Happy birthday."

It was House's fiftieth birthday, or it would have been if House hadn't chosen to become a vampire. Now he would always be forty-nine years old, no matter what the calendar said.

He felt Wilson's lips brush cautiously against his cheek and neck. House opened his eyes, and Wilson's face was directly above his. When House smiled, so did Wilson.

"Close your eyes and I'll give you a birthday treat."

"You're being very bossy all of sudden," House complained, but he shut his eyes anyway.

Wilson rewarded him with a kiss that took his breath away.

Wilson's kisses could be passionate, shy, sweet or mischievous. They had character. House had once had the usual male attitude towards kissing – a tedious preliminary to the real business at hand – but Wilson had changed his mind.

Wilson had once told House that he doubted vampires were capable of love. Love was reserved for creatures who had a soul. What they felt for each other had to be something less noble – an animal need for sex and companionship. House knew that he was wrong. All the love that Wilson had never expressed in words, all the love that he denied, was in his kisses.

-----------------------------

House watched as Wilson leaned forward to retrieve a pillow that had fallen to the floor. He idly traced his fingernail down the line of Wilson's spine.

"That trick with your tongue..."

"Did you like it?"

"Of course, I liked it. I can't imagine anyone not liking it."

Wilson turned his head to look at House. He smiled. He looked just a little too smug in House's opinion.

"I'm just wondering if you came up with it on your own, or if you learned it from someone else," House said.

House grabbed Wilson's shoulders and pulled him back down on to the mattress. Wilson stifled a startled cry. House was on top of him, his hands on his wrists, pinning him down. The look is his eyes was playful, but Wilson knew that a vampire's mood could change in an instant.

Sex had been very good, but it wasn't enough. For a vampire like House, the real intimacy was in drinking another's blood.

The Professor had called it "blood tribute". It was a payment and a ritual of respect owed by a lesser vampire to his protector. Like many of the concepts in the Professor's model of vampire life, "blood tribute" was all about knowing your particular place in the vampire hierarchy. (The Professor's place, of course, had been at the very top.) House had been profoundly grateful than his own position as the Professor's favoured apprentice had required only obedience and not tribute.

House had never explained the concept of blood tribute to Wilson. He hadn't needed to. Wilson gave him his blood for reasons that had nothing to do with duty and rules. The vampire code of conduct had never meant anything to Wilson anyway.

House leaned in close, rubbing his whiskery cheek against Wilson's face. He kissed Wilson on the neck, his sharp teeth brushing against the skin. House leaned in again and Wilson shied away, turning his head. He struggled to escape House's hold, but House had expected some token resistance. Wilson always had to be coaxed into sharing his blood. House suppressed a low growl of impatience and tightened his hold on Wilson's wrists.

"Stay still," House warned. "If you thrash around, you could get hurt."

House lowered his head over Wilson and Wilson froze. House could feel the tension and strain in the other vampire's muscles and his shallow and rapid respiration.

Wilson was fighting the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. House had him pinned down, immobile, just as the Professor had done. Wilson told himself that House wasn't the Professor. House wasn't going to hurt him, or at least not anymore than was necessary. He could trust him. However, when Wilson caught a glimpse of House's teeth and fangs, reason deserted him. The sight of another vampire's fangs always aroused a deep and instinctive fear that was hard to combat at the best of times.

"Wilson, what the hell's the matter with you?"

The tone of House's voice was sharp, cutting through Wilson's panic and confusion, but House was more puzzled than angry. He and Wilson had been enjoying themselves, Wilson almost as much as House, and then Wilson suddenly wasn't there any more. He was gone and something else had taken his place – a cornered animal that whined and spat and snapped.

Wilson turned his head toward the sound of House's voice. He looked into House's eyes, and his panic receded.

"I don't like being held down," Wilson explained, red-faced with embarrassment.

"You could have mentioned that _before_ you tried to rip out my throat."

House flopped down on the mattress beside Wilson. They both stared at the ceiling in awkward silence.

Then House reached across the space between them and pulled Wilson into his arms, holding him in a tight bear hug, Wilson's back against his chest. He kissed Wilson on the nape of the neck, a light reassuring kiss without a trace of tooth or fang.

"Better?"

Wilson nodded. He lifted his head, exposing his neck.

House paused, savouring that delicious moment of submission, and then plunged his teeth into Wilson's neck. House closed his eyes. Wilson's blood filled his mouth and trickled down the back of his throat. He imagined that honeyed sweetness pouring into his veins, his heart pumping Wilson's blood, Wilson's essence becoming a part of him.

---------------------------

When House came out the bathroom, showered and dressed and ready to face the world, Wilson was still in bed. Wilson had cocooned himself in a tangle of sheets and blankets. He was considering the benefits of a nice hot bath, if only he could summon the energy to get up and turn on the water.

House put a hand on Wilson's forehead, which felt cool to the touch, even to another vampire. He'd probably taken just a little bit too much of Wilson's blood; it was hard not to be greedy when he tasted so good.

"I hope you don't think that you're off the hook for a birthday present," House said. "Just so you know, Tila Tequila's phone number is at the top of my wish list."

"Ummm," said Wilson. "Is gift-giving at birthdays really a vampire custom? Isn't it more a human thing? I don't recall reading anything about birthday presents in the old vampire handbook."

"Very funny," House said. "Where is it?"

"Coat closet, behind your raincoat."

"I've already looked there. So unless my birthday present is a rusty wire hanger..."

"It isn't. But you haven't considered all the possibilities..."

"What possibilities?"

"Gift-bearing elves could have broken in while we were asleep."

"Wrong season and I'm pretty sure I'm on the naughty list."

"Or I could have asked Ceci down the hall to keep your present in her place, so that you wouldn't find it. And I could have phoned her while you were in the shower, and asked her to bring it over."

Ceci?"

"Blonde, perky, ends every other sentence with "you know what I mean,' and before you ask, I am _not_ having a torrid love affair with her."

House opened the closet door and swept aside his raincoat. An electric guitar leaned against the closet wall, its neck decorated with a bright green ribbon.

"I know it's not as good as the one you left behind in Princeton..." Wilson said.

House wasn't listening. He had picked up the guitar and was examining it. He tore off the ribbon.

"but the salesman said Ibanez was a good brand and this was the most expensive guitar in the store, and most expensive usually means best..."

"You didn't actually pay for it, did you?" House asked.

Wilson shook his head, looking dejected. "Stole it."

House tried out the opening riff from "Smoke on the Water."

House smiled. "Best birthday present ever."


	17. At the Lucky Shamrock Inn

_At The Lucky Shamrock Inn_

**Author's note**: This takes place before the events of _Happy Birthday to House_.

After they left Princeton for the second time, House wanted to go back to Las Vegas, but Wilson most definitely did not. A few days before, House might have dragged him back to Nevada, willing or not. Now, however, he was uncomfortably aware how close Wilson had come to leaving him and he didn't want to lose him. Generously, he decided to delay their return at least for a few weeks.

Wilson found them a small furnished apartment in a run-down former hotel. The landlord was willing to let apartment by the week and the rent was reasonable by New York standards.

When House and Wilson had been living rent-free with the Professor, money from kills, though always sporadic and unpredictable, had been enough. Now that they had to pay rent, they needed a more reliable source of income. Reluctantly, House decided to find work as a musician. He worked off the books, for cash and tips, a couple of nights a week.

One of House's gigs was playing at a supper club called the Lucky Shamrock Inn. House had been hired to play "light music" as the patrons ate their meals. Later in the evening, Giselle Varney, owner of the Shamrock, would sing while House accompanied her on the piano. It was an insultingly easy job for a musician of House's calibre, but it paid well.

Giselle had the ambition, confidence and attitude of a natural born diva, but her voice was nasal, and her vocal range was tiny. She was shrill on the high notes and almost inaudible on the low ones. Her voice teacher had tactfully suggested songs that she could sing without straining her voice ("Tea for Two", "Moon River"). Giselle didn't pay any attention to his suggestions. She wanted to sing the songs made famous by the women who inspired her: Barbra, Whitney, Bette, and especially Celine.

House hadn't been as tactful as her voice teacher. The first time he heard her sing, he bluntly told Giselle that she was lousy. She laughed. She thought he was joking.

* * *

Wilson's latest pastime was reading vampire fiction. Literary quality didn't matter to him. Bram Stoker, Sheridan Le Fanu and Anne Rice shared shelf space with supermarket thrillers, ragged second-hand comic books, and supernatural romances.

Wilson preferred the older stories, even though the vampires in them were evil and almost always died at the end. "Good" vampires didn't seem to have much to do with him or the vampires he knew. They proclaimed their undying love to their human girlfriends, mused moodily about the cost of immortality, and seldom drank human blood at all – preferring artificial substitutes or cow's blood from a convenient nearby slaughterhouse. They were too soft to be killers.

Wilson's most recent find was a manga featuring a group of teenaged vampire crime-fighters. They were all fashionably dressed and had enormous doe eyes and long silky hair. The villain was someone called the Red Heart Queen, who regularly chopped off people's heads with her samurai sword.

Wilson put the manga down when he noticed that his hand was shaking. He knew that once the shaking started, he couldn't put off hunting any longer. He needed blood. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door.

Wilson spotted the young man from half a block away. He was a predator, like Wilson himself. Half-hidden in the shadows, he waited for his prey. There was a weight of some kind, probably a knife or a gun, in the right hand pocket of his coat.

Yukiko the teenaged crime-fighter would have given the mugger the fright of his life. She would have stood over the cowering criminal, her over-sized fangs glittering in the moonlight, while he pleaded for his life and vowed to reform. Wilson walked by. What one human did to another was none of his business.

He stopped a block and a half away in front of a homeless man. The homeless man was a familiar sight. He spent his nights sitting on a sheet of cardboard next to the entrance of an alley. Sometimes his shoulders slumped and his eyelids drooped with exhaustion, but Wilson had never seen him sleep.

Wilson squatted down next to him and looked into his red-rimmed eyes. The man's irises were an extraordinary colour, a changeable shade somewhere between blue and green, like the sea on a cloudy day. Wilson put his usual donation into his hat.

"How do you feel today, Mr. Philips? Is your cough any better?"

The homeless man shook his head. " 'bout the same," he said.

His voice was a whisper, so weak that only someone with a vampire's keen hearing could have made out the words. Still the effort of talking was enough to bring on a paroxysm of coughing that left him weak and helpless.

It was possible that Mr. Philips only had bronchitis or pneumonia. Wilson didn't think so though. He thought his cough was a symptom of something much worse than either.

Wilson stood up and walked the half block to the nearest all-night liquor store. He went to the wine section and picked up a bottle of California red. He remembered sharing a bottle of this wine with Amber. It had been delicious, with a taste that had reminded him of strawberries and sunshine. He pulled out his wallet and found that he had just enough left to pay for it.

Wilson returned to the alley. He held up the bottle. Mr. Philips smiled and held out his hand.

"Not here," Wilson said. "In the alley, where no one will see us."

He pulled the man to his feet and supported him as he walked into the darkness. The homeless man leaned against the wall of a building, catching his breath, and then sank down to the ground. Wilson sat beside him. He pulled the cork from the bottle using his strong, sharp vampire's fingernails. The homeless man, transfixed by the sight of the bottle, did not notice Wilson's nails.

Wilson passed him the open bottle, and the homeless man took a long drink. He tried to pass the bottle back to Wilson, but the former oncologist shook his head.

"I never drink...wine," he said, quoting a famous line from a vampire movie.

Another clue, but Wilson didn't really expect the homeless man to pick up on it.

Mr. Philips had finished the bottle.

"I want you to shut your eyes and go to sleep," Wilson said, looking deep into his eyes. "I don't want you to be afraid or to be in pain. One bite and then it won't hurt anymore.

I don't know what happens after that. Maybe nothing at all."

The homeless man slept at last, and Wilson leaned in for the kill.

* * *

Wilson got to his feet, clinging to the wall for support. Half-blinded by tears, he fought against a wave of dizziness and nausea.

More out of habit than from any reasonable expectation, Wilson searched the man's pockets for money, finding a few coins to add to his own small collection of change. There wasn't much point in trying to tidy him up.

At the entrance to the alley, Wilson paused. He knew he was blood-drunk and should go home to sleep it off, but he didn't want to be alone in an empty apartment.

* * *

Halfway through her performance of "The Wind Beneath My Wings", Giselle forgot the words. Like the true professional she was, she didn't miss a beat. She skipped the rest of the song and launched into the final number, the theme to Titanic. House, her accompanist, cursed under his breath as he caught up, and Giselle threw him a coquettish glance.

Normally Giselle sang her last song to a member of the audience, but that night there was no one in the small group of diners closest to the stage who appealed to her. Instead she sang to House. She looked into his eyes, and then moved across the tiny stage to stand behind him. He was enveloped by the scent of her perfume, which smelled of musk and spice. Her hand brushed against his cheek. Her soft body pressed against his and her long glossy black hair (a very good stage wig) brushed against his shoulder.

House didn't like Giselle, not at all, but there was something about her that appealed to his vampire nature. Perhaps it was just her sheer artificiality. Every inch of her was buffed and shined to perfection. The angle of her cheekbones and the slant of her nose had been chosen by skilled cosmetic surgeons. Her body was sculpted by the best trainers and diet specialists, and her skin was pampered and smoothed with expensive creams and serums. She was an objet d'art, precious and beautiful but also just a little ridiculous, like a Fabergé egg.

Giselle aroused his appetite. The only problem was that he wasn't sure whether what he felt for her was lust or hunger. It would be disastrous to mistake one for the other.

* * *

House spotted Wilson at the bar half-way through Giselle's finale. Wilson was sitting at the bar. Simon, the club bouncer, was looming over Wilson in a way that was meant to be menacing. Of course, Wilson, being a vampire, wasn't menaced in the slightest. House picked up the tempo, rushing through the final verses of "My Heart Will Go On".

"I don't have enough money to pay for the cover charge _myself_," Wilson was saying with the exaggerated precision of someone trying very hard to pretend he is not drunk," but my friend the piano player will lend me the money, and then I'll give it to you."

"Your friend the piano player, huh?" the bouncer repeated doubtfully. "What's your friend the piano player's name?"

Wilson considered. He knew that House wasn't performing under his own name. He'd picked one of the aliases from the fake ids that the Professor had obtained for them. Unfortunately, Wilson couldn't remember which alias House was using for this job. It was annoying really. It would be a lot simpler if he stuck to one id, the way that Wilson did.

"I'm Emil Lime," Wilson said, "which is easy to remember because it's the same backwards and forwards."

"I didn't ask for your name," Simon said, raising the level of menace in his voice another degree, "I asked for your buddy's name."

Giselle was still basking in the audience's tepid applause, but House had already left the stage and was standing at Simon's elbow.

"Emil here," House said, "had a brain injury that makes him forget names. He can only remember his own because it's written on his underwear."

"Yeah, right," said the bouncer humourlessly, "Except one day he gets the wrong pair back from the laundry and he spends the whole day calling himself One Size Fits All. I know that one.

Is this guy a friend of yours, Mike? Are you going to take care of him or I am going to have to?"

"I'll take care of him," House said. "I'll take him round the back to sober up."

* * *

The back room contained a couch, a half dozen battered lockers, and a television mounted on the wall. House and Wilson sat on the couch. Wilson gazed into the blank television screen.

"He had such pretty eyes," Wilson said. "Sea-green eyes. Fathomless depths of pain. You could drown in them. You could sink forever."

"Very poetic," House said. "Have you ever thought of _not_ looking into their eyes? It works for me."

"A bottomless abyss of suffering..."

"Do you have any idea what you smell like? You really need a bath."

"You smell too. You come home smelling like her perfume. Like a cinnamon-coated weasel."

House glanced sharply at Wilson.

"If you're going to have sex with somebody else," Wilson said," you should either hide it better, or you should tell me about it."

"I'm not having sex with Giselle," House said," but I'm thinking about it. There are complications. She's married."

"And she's your boss, and she doesn't know that you're a vampire, and you're supposed to be in love with Cuddy..."

Wilson's voice faded. House looked up, sensing another's presence. Simon was standing in the doorway. His face was impassive. It was impossible to tell how much of their conversation he had overheard.

"Giselle said this is for you," he said, handing House a handful of bills.

* * *

Wilson almost fell asleep in the taxi going home. He took a quick shower and then went to bed, without even bothering to dry his hair. He just put a towel over his pillow to catch the drips.

"You realize that I can't go back there anymore," House said, standing over Wilson. "It's too risky. If Simon overheard what you said..."

"Sorry," Wilson mumbled.

"You're not usually so careless. Did you do it on purpose?"

"What?"

"So that I wouldn't be able to see Giselle any more."

"I'm not that devious."

"Yes, you are." House said suspiciously.

He looked closely at Wilson, trying to determine whether he was lying, but the other vampire was already asleep.


	18. A New Friend

**A New Friend**

_Prologue** -** Las Vegas_

The SUV swerved around his battered body and drove away. The sound of approaching sirens became louder and more insistent. The vampire opened his eyes and looked up into the night sky. It took every bit of will he possessed to force himself to move. He crawled across the road to the sidewalk, and then used the chain link face to pull himself to his feet. Stumbling, shambling, step by painful step, he headed away from the lights and noise.

By the time the first police car arrived, the Professor was a block away. His movements were clumsy and mechanical, but the line he walked was perfectly straight. Once set in motion, the vampire was like a clockwork toy, performing the same actions over and over again.

The Professor walked to the very edge of the city, where the road ended and the desert began. A billboard blocked his progress and brought him to a stop. The sign told the vampire, who was incapable of reading it, that he was at Rancho Fortuna Estates, luxurious homes at affordable prices.

The luxurious homes were mini-mansions, products of a construction boom that was never supposed to end. Abandoned when their developer ran into legal and money problems, they were in various stages of completion. One of two of them were almost finished except for doors, windows and fixtures, most were only frames and squares of poured concrete. The vampire took refuge from the sun in one of the almost finished homes. He found a blocked-off space, probably meant to hold a water heater. Safe from the sun's deadly rays, he rested and healed.

A few days later, the Professor found his first victim. He was a graffiti artist, drawn to Rancho Fortuna by its blank white walls and enticing lack of security. Instead of killing him quickly with a venomous vampire's bite, the Professor took him captive. He broke the young man's ankles with a piece of paving stone so he could not escape, and bled him slowly, cutting him with his sharp nails and lapping up the blood. In his weakened state, unable to hunt, the Professor needed his food supply to last.

The young man survived almost a week until he succumbed to blood loss, thirst, and heat. By then, the Professor had regained enough strength to drag his victim's body out into the desert and dig him a shallow grave.

The Professor had been living in Rancho Fortuna for more than a month when his former apprentice found him. The younger vampire cornered him in his lair. Backed against the wall, the Professor growled, snarled and spat his defiance. There was nothing left in this filthy, malformed thing to remind the apprentice of the forceful teacher she had once admired.

The former apprentice took a deep breath and tightened her grip on the stake she held in her right hand. It was her duty to kill this pitiful creature, out of respect for the vampire he used to be.

"Mia," the creature said. His voice was whisper thin and cracked from disuse.

The apprentice lowered her weapon. By the light of the moon, she peered deep into the creature's murky eyes, looking for the faint glimmer of intelligence.

* * *

After an evening among humans, pretending to be one of them, House wanted nothing more than to come home and be pure, unadulterated vampire. He needed to express his true nature, which was commanding, ruthless and powerful.

The Professor told him that in the old days, vampires had been kings and warlords. They had lived in castles, surrounded by a retinue of fiercely loyal soldiers ready to follow him to Hell and back without question. In these decadent days, however, House had to make do with a shoebox-sized furnished apartment and Wilson, who only obeyed orders he agreed with.

House expected to find Wilson sitting on the couch, watching Meerkat Manor on television or reading one of his vampire novels. Instead the apartment was empty. Wilson wasn't home and he hadn't left a note. It was hard to be commanding when there was no one to command.

Wilson didn't return until a few minutes before dawn.

"Where were you?"

"At an all night showing of the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Ceci had only ever seen the Lord of the Rings on dvd, and I told her she had to see the whole thing on the big screen with Dolby sound."

"So you were on a date with Ceci."

"Not a date, House," said Wilson.

"She's exactly your type. Needy. Lacking in self-confidence. You love a fixer-upper."

"We're friends. Ceci thinks I'm gay and unemployed, hardly good husband and boyfriend material. She's just lonely, and she needs someone to listen to her."

"That's how it started with Bonnie and Julie. You listen to them, look after them, tell them how wonderful they are, and then – surprise, surprise – they fall in love with you. Six weeks later, you're married."

"House, she's human. I only like vampires."

"Amber's not a vampire and you're in love with her."

"Now you're being ridiculous. You can't possibly be jealous of my dead girlfriend," Wilson said tiredly, rubbing the back of his neck. "You just want to argue, and I'm not in the mood."

"If you're not in love with Amber, then you won't mind if I do this," House said, pulling out a familiar manila envelope.

It was the envelope where Wilson kept all the photographs he had salvaged from his old life. House removed Amber's photograph, letting the envelope and the other photographs fall to the floor. Wilson tried to snatch Amber's photograph from House's hands, but House stepped back and held the photograph up high, where Wilson couldn't reach it. He ripped Amber's photo in half, then ripped the halves into quarters. He didn't stop until all that remained was a handful of confetti. Then he threw the confetti into Wilson's shocked face.

Wilson fell to his knees, gathering bits of paper, but it was obvious that the photograph could not be repaired. His only photograph of Amber was gone. He had nothing left to remember her by.

"It's your own fault," House said, "I told you not to bring anything that could identify you."

Wilson wasn't listening. He was still gathering confetti. When he had all the pieces of paper, he stood up, unsure of what to do next. House handed him the manila envelope and he took it, dropping the pieces inside.

Wilson picked up the other photographs.

"Are you going to tear up these ones too?"

House shook his head.

"You don't think this photo of my family is a security risk. How about this one? Me and Bonnie, you and Stacy. Somebody could recognize us from that. If you looked at it with a magnifying glass, you might be able to make out the words "Happy Birthday Greg" on the cake."

With one decisive movement, Wilson sliced the photograph with a vampire's long sharp fingernail, neatly decapitating the smiling Gregory House in the photo. He handed the handful of photographs to House and strode past him, heading for the bathroom. House heard him turn on the tap for the bath tub.

After a bit of searching, House found a roll of Scotch tape in a drawer in their tiny, never-used kitchen. He carefully taped the birthday photograph back together and put it with the others in the envelope.

When Wilson finally emerged from his sanctuary, with wrinkled fingers and toes and smelling strongly of French lavender soap, House was already in bed and apparently asleep. Wilson dithered, weighing the comfort of House's 400-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets against the moral satisfaction of sleeping alone on cold linoleum or dusty carpet. After a few seconds of internal debate, the luxury-loving part of him won out.

* * *

Okay, House admitted, ripping up Amber's photograph had been childish and spiteful. However, House was a vampire, and vampires are naturally malicious and vindictive. It was totally unreasonable for Wilson to hold him up to a higher standard of behaviour.

It had been three days and nights and Wilson was still upset with him. He scarcely looked at House, spoke to him only when necessary, and never touched him at all. It was amazing how Wilson could retreat into himself until he was scarcely present. Sharing an apartment with Wilson was like living with a particularly sulky ghost.

House knew that Wilson would forgive him sooner or later, but he couldn't wait. He needed to do something to speed up the process. Replacing the photograph of Amber would be a good start. Amber had once worked for PPTH, so there had to be a photograph of her in the hospital's personnel files. Cuddy had access to her file.

Wilson was out of the apartment taking a walk, so it was a good time to call. House punched in Cuddy's number.

"Hello," said a man's voice. He sounded vaguely familiar.

"Hello, is Cuddy there?"

"Do you know that it's two thirty in the morning? Is this some kind of emergency?"

"Give Cuddy the phone."

"House? Is that you? Where are you calling from?"

House terminated the call. He remembered where he had heard that voice before. It was Lucas, a private detective he had once hired to spy on Wilson. House frowned. It was bad enough that Cuddy had found another man, worse that it was someone House had once liked and trusted.

House heard the sound of Wilson's key in the lock.

"Wilson, how would you like to take a trip back to Princeton? You could visit the cemetery where Amber's buried. Put a pebble on her headstone."

"Really? You'd let me go?"

"Of course. You can drive my SUV. I'll even come with you if you like. Not to the cemetery though. You probably want to commune with Amber alone."

Wilson nodded. "Next Thursday would have been her thirty-fourth birthday. We could leave Wednesday evening. I don't think you have a gig that night, but I'll check your schedule to make sure."

"While you're with Amber, I could drop in on Cuddy. See how she and the baby are doing. Maybe she's changed her mind about becoming a vampire."

"It's possible, I guess," Wilson conceded, absorbed in working out the details of their upcoming trip.

House smiled, making his own plans.

* * *

Remy Hadley's life was in ruins. She had been diagnosed with an incurable genetic disorder that would eventually kill her. She had been suspended from the hospital where she had once had a promising career. Her medical license was currently under review, and she was facing charges for possessing ecstasy, crystal meth and various other illegal substances.

"Before we go to trial, I'd like you to attend some kind of support group or therapy program for the terminally ill. It will show the judge that you're trying to deal with your issues constructively," her attorney had said.

Hadley had been reluctant. Her mother had also suffered from Huntington's Disease, and she knew exactly what awaited her. The last thing she needed was to socialize with people who were further down the road than she was, reminding her of what she had to expect.

"When it comes to sentencing, the judge will want to be easy on you but he can't afford to be seen as soft on crime. He has to think of his re-election. You've got to give him a reason to be lenient with you if you want to avoid jail time."

"Dying of Huntington's isn't going to be enough?"

"Probably," the lawyer said, "but I'd still suggest that you do anything you can to tip the scales a little more in your favour. You don't have all that many years left. I'd hate to see you wasting any of them in prison."

Hadley took her lawyer's advice. She joined a support group for the terminally ill which met every Thursday evening in a senior high classroom. The group leader arranged the classroom desks into a talking circle. Remy always sat on the far left side of the circle, because that meant that she would be among the last to speak. Sometimes she was lucky, and time ran out before it's her turn to talk.

Other than her impending death, Hadley had nothing in common with the people in her therapy group. They had such ordinary little lives, working as school teachers, cashiers and construction workers. They had already done as much in life as they were capable of doing, but she still had so much potential and so much she wanted to achieve. Her loss was so much greater than theirs.

The group leader stood up, making his usual opening speech, but Hadley wasn't listening. She had noticed a newcomer among the group. Usually Hadley amused herself by diagnosing newcomers' illnesses, but she couldn't figure this one out. She was very young, perhaps still in her teens, with fair, creamy skin, close-cropped red hair like a fox's brush, and a sharp upturned nose. Despite her pale complexion, the girl appeared to be perfectly healthy. She wasn't pretty, but she had a kind of bright-eyed energy that made her attractive. As if she could sense Hadley's interest, the girl turned her head and looked directly at her. Hadley, who seldom lost her composure, blushed and turned away. When she looked up again, the redheaded girl was gone.

After the meeting, most of the group lingered for a while over coffee and doughnuts, but Hadley headed for the door. The redheaded girl was waiting for her in the hallway. Hadley followed her out of the building. She led her down the street to a coffee shop, where they took a seat near the window.

The redheaded girl leaned across the table and clasped Hadley's hand. She smiled, a sharp little grin suggestive of mischief and shared secrets.

"Hello, I guess I should introduce myself. My name is Mia Winter."

"I'm Remy Hadley."

"Also known as Thirteen."

"How do you know that name? Nobody calls me that anymore."

"We're connected, you and I. Gregory House gave you that nickname, didn't he?"

"You knew House?"

"I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, but we have a friend in common. We'll get to House later. Right now, I want to talk about what I can do for you. You're going to be very glad we met."


	19. Mia

**Mia's Story**

The woman at the counter passed them their orders: a cup of coffee for Hadley and an herbal tea for Mia. Hadley's hand shook as she took the cup, and some of the coffee spilled into the saucer. Hadley swore at her, hissing an ugly four-letter word that made the counter woman gasp. Hadley carefully carried her hot drink back to their table. More hot coffee sloshed into the saucer.

The redhead held her cup of tea in her hands, appreciating its warmth. She breathed in the fragrance of oranges and spice but didn't drink.

Mia said, "Our connection to House isn't the only thing we had in common. Like you, I grew up in the shadow of death. At one point, I wasn't expected to live to see my eighteenth birthday. I was supposed to die young."

Hadley looked at the other woman sceptically.

"You haven't even had your eighteenth birthday yet. You can't be older than fifteen or sixteen at most, and you're not sick. I could tell if you were. I'm a doctor and my specialty used to be diagnostics."

"I'm not sick anymore, and I'm a lot older than I look. Though maybe it's more accurate to say that I'm younger than my years," Mia smiled again, an enigmatic little grin that made Hadley want to kiss and slap her simultaneously.

"An illness runs in my family, just as Huntington's disease runs in yours. One of my uncles died of it and there was a cousin too, I think. Relatives I'd never met and didn't care about. They didn't have anything to do with me.

My mother died giving birth to me, but I can't say I missed her. My father cherished me because I reminded him of her. People said he spoiled me. He was a landowner, and I had the run of my father's estate. I went in and out of the tenants' houses as if they were my own. No one ever scolded me, no matter what mischief I got up to.

Then when I was fifteen, I experienced the first symptoms. I drank water constantly, but my thirst was never satisfied. I was always hungry, but I grew thinner and weaker every day. My father consulted the best physicians, of course. They told him the disease was invariably fatal and recommended a starvation diet. With the very best of luck, I might survive a year or two. No one could offer us any more hope than that."

"You had Type I diabetes," Hadley said. "What about insulin?"

"It hadn't been discovered yet," Mia said.

"Insulin was discovered in 1922," Hadley said.

"I told you that I'm older than I look."

Hadley shook her head, insulted at being asked to believe something impossible. She rose from her seat, getting ready to leave. Mia got up from her seat as well. She took a step towards Hadley. She reached out to brush against her cheek delicately with one long varnished fingernail.

"Please, Thirteen. You don't have to believe. Just listen. Keep me company."

Hadley froze for a moment. Then she sat back down, and Mia sat down opposite her. She took one of Hadley's hands in both of hers in a sisterly gesture of affection and smiled. Then she continued her story.

"My father was a very wealthy man and well connected. He had heard of someone – a dangerous man with a very bad reputation – who was rumoured to be able to cure people that other doctors could not. He offered him an enormous sum if he could cure me.

He took me into the city to meet this man, who called himself the Professor of Esoteric Medicine, a grand-sounding title for a quack doctor with no qualifications. The Professor insisted on meeting with me alone without my father present. And my father, who had loved and protected me from the moment I was born, was so desperate that he agreed to leave me alone with this evil man for twenty-four hours to affect the cure.

When he came back to get me, I was cured. But I was not quite the same girl he'd left behind. I'd changed in ways that bewildered me and horrified him.

I had an appetite that needed to be satisfied. I could have looked after myself. I'm stronger than I look and not at all squeamish, but my father could not imagine his precious little Mia prowling the filthy alleyways of London at night. Much too sordid for his little girl.

My father got me what I needed to survive, although I think it broke his heart to do it. He brought me children, because in any city there are always more of them than are needed or wanted. He'd lure them back to our house with promises of a hot meal and a job as a scullery maid or a bootblack. The housekeeper would feed them, give them a bath to scrape off the first layer of grime and sweat, and dress them in clean clothes. Then she'd send them into the playroom, where I was waiting.

I don't know what they did with the bodies afterwards."

Hadley said, "You're telling me that you're a vampire."

Mia nodded.

"Vampires don't exist. They aren't real."

Hadley looked at the red-headed girl, who smiled at her, exposing her kitten-sharp teeth.

"I exist. I'm as real as you are."

Hadley turned away, unable to meet the other woman's brilliant green eyes. She stared into her half-empty coffee cup. Mia stroked her hand rhythmically, soothingly.

"I lived with my father and his housekeeper in that house in the city with every luxury a young girl could desire. But I wasn't happy. I was a tiger in a cage.

I loved my father though, and I couldn't bear to leave him. That's something the Professor could never understand. He'd never loved anyone, so he couldn't understand how those feelings persist even after everything else changes.

I lived in that cage for seven years, until my father died of a heart attack. He'd left the house in the city to me, tied up in complicated trust. I leased out the property and sold everything else – every stick of furniture. I went to find the Professor. I needed to learn how to be a vampire and he was the only one who could teach me."

It was the word "vampire" that broke Mia's spell. It evoked images of overdressed Europeans with silly accents and brooding teenagers with cheekbones to die for.

Hadley had allowed herself to be drawn into a troubled girl's fantasies. She felt foolish. She hastily removed her hand from Mia's grasp.

"I'm not buying any of this," she said sternly. "Either you're crazy or you must think that I am."

"I'm not offended that you don't believe me," Mia said. "I know that I'm going to have to prove myself to you. Come with me and I'll show you."

Mia stood up, but Hadley stayed seated until Mia pulled her effortlessly to her feet.

"Please, Thirteen," Mia said. "You're already showing symptoms of Huntiington's. This is your only chance for a cure. You don't want to throw it away."

------------

Reluctantly, Remy Hadley followed the red-headed girl out the door of the coffee shop and down the street. She had decided that Mia was a con-artist rather than delusional. Hadley was too intelligent and too grounded in reality to be fooled by anyone promising miracle cures, so it wouldn't do her any harm to listen to the girl's patter. At least, Mia promised more entertainment value than her current girlfriend, who was good for half the rent and not much else.

Mia stopped in front of a movie theatre. It was showing the premiere of My Name is Vengeance, the third in the popular Lord of Vengeance trilogy. There was a line outside the theatre that went down the block and around the corner. A few of the more enthusiastic cinephiles had even dressed up as their favourite characters.

"Pick one," Mia said, waving toward the line-up.

"Anyone?"

Hadley looked over the crowd. She immediately disregarded anyone in costume, too likely to be confederates that Mia had placed in the crowd.

"Him."

Remy Hadley pointed to a nondescript young man hanging out with a crowd of his buddies. He was of college age, perhaps eighteen years old, of average size, and dressed in the typical student uniform of t-shirt and jeans. After she had made her choice, Hadley felt a second of doubt. Maybe he was _too_ ordinary. Maybe she had been meant to pick him all along.

It was too late to change her mind. Mia was already heading towards him. The red-headed girl stood on the fringes of his group and joined in the young men's laughter whenever someone made a joke. She smiled, following their conversation. After a few minutes she ventured a comment of her own - a slyly humorous quip that caught them off guard and made them notice her at last.

Hadley watched Mia as she became part of the group, and then as she turned her attention to Hadley's choice. Mia laughed hardest at his jokes. She brushed against his arm and leaned in towards him whenever he spoke. She smiled at him, a shy, sweet smile, and lowered her eyes when he looked at her, too bashful to meet his gaze.

Not subtle at all, Hadley thought, but then subtlety would be lost on a teen-aged boy.

It took Mia less than a minute to separate her intended victim from his buddies. Hadley followed a discreet distance behind as Mia and the college student headed for the fire lane next to the theatre.

"Is this where you lost your wallet?" the young man asked, peering into the darkness. "What were you doing here anyway?"

"I didn't really lose my wallet," Mia said, sounding a little embarrassed. "I just wanted to be alone with you, away from your friends. Sorry."

"That's okay," the young man said.

Emboldened by Mia's confession, he put an arm around her shoulder and then leaned in for a kiss. There was nothing shy or demure about the way the red-haired girl responded to him. She kissed him back passionately, and his eyes opened wide in pleased surprise.

When Hadley caught up with them, Mia was backed against the wall of the theatre, locked in a tight embrace with the young man. The man didn't register her presence at all, but Mia looked straight into Hadley's eyes, smiled and winked. Then, still smiling, she bit into the young man's neck.

He struggled briefly, but Mia was stronger than he was. It was over so quickly that he never had a chance to call out for help. Although the alleyway was only a few yards away from the movie-goers, no one noticed the attack. The doors into the theatre had finally opened and the excited crowd was moving forward at last.

* * *

Mia was sitting in the alley, her back against the wall of the movie theatre. The young man's head was on her lap and she was absent-mindedly running her fingers through his hair. Hadley stood over them, one hand against the wall for support. She felt dizzy and sick. She took a deep breath to compose herself. This had to be fake. She hadn't just watched a young man being murdered and done nothing to help him. It had to be a trick, somehow.

The details were so authentic though, even down to the sweetly metallic smell of the victim's blood. Hadley knelt down to touch the young man's face, pale and still, and to look into his glassy, unseeing eyes.

The blood wasn't fake. His pallor wasn't makeup, and he wasn't breathing.

It had to be some drug that stopped his heart temporarily, something that mimicked death without endangering the user. Some rare substance unknown to medical science.

"He's not really dead, is he?" she asked, sinking to her knees.

"Not quite yet," Mia said. "Soon."

Mia had taken no more than a mouthful or two of his blood, since she wasn't really hungry, but she knew the venom in her bite was especially potent and would kill him quickly. She leaned forward, putting her finger to the bite wound on his neck. She touched Hadley on the forehead, marking the young woman with her victim's blood.

"This one's yours," she said.


	20. Ill Met by Moonlight

**Ill Met by Moonlight**

Wilson had driven the whole distance from New York to Princeton without a single comment from House about his driving. Nothing at all about being passed by skateboarders or old ladies on scooters. Lost in his own thoughts, House hardly even grumbled when Wilson stopped at the floral department of a large supermarket to buy flowers for Amber's grave.

Wilson returned to the S.U.V. carrying two paper-wrapped bouquets. Wilson carefully put one of the bouquets on the back seat of their S.U.V. The other – a half dozen red roses – he handed to House.

"For me?" House asked, batting his eyelashes, playing the part of a coy Southern belle.

Wilson smiled. "For you to give to Cuddy," he said, turning the key in the ignition.

"You've changed your mind about Cuddy becoming one of us then? You want her to join us."

"I want whatever you want," Wilson said, his tone carefully neutral.

House gave Wilson a sharp glance. It annoyed him when Wilson pretended to be the perfectly obedient protégée that he definitely wasn't.

Wilson drove the S.U.V. out of the supermarket lot and merged into oncoming traffic.

"I think I have a better chance of convincing her this time," House said. "I think you were the deal-breaker last time. I don't think she minded that I was a vampire. Knowing that she was going to have to share me with you was what really bothered her. I'll tell her that you've left me for another vampire with sharper fangs and a shinier car."

House turned his head to look at Wilson. The other vampire's expression was blank. If he was jealous of Cuddy, as House sometimes suspected, Wilson was very determined not to show it.

"She'll find out after she's initiated that you're still around, but by then it'll be too late. She'll already be a vampire.

I can't see the three of us – four if Cuddy brings Rachel - sharing the sofa-bed in our studio apartment, so I was thinking we'd all go back to Las Vegas. The Professor was a recluse, so there's a chance that no one has even noticed that he's gone and his house is unoccupied. His house could be sitting there empty, waiting for us. The baby could stay in your old room, and you could take the Professor's room..."

Wilson shuddered involuntarily.

"You could stay in your old room with the baby," House revised, "and Cuddy and I would take my room."

"It's not safe to go back to Las Vegas. The Professor..."

"The Professor is dead. If he managed to survive his injuries, he would have fried as soon as the sun came up," House said confidently. "You saw him. He didn't have enough brains left to get out of the middle of the road."

Wilson winced at House's graphic description of the Professor's state.

"Since we'd be in Las Vegas anyway," House said, "Cuddy and I might even get married. I've always dreamed of getting married by an Elvis impersonator with a vampire as best man."

This time, Wilson only nodded vaguely, not really registering House's words.

They had reached the cemetery where Amber was buried. Wilson pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. He looked at the gates of the cemetery for a long silent moment, and then turned to retrieve Amber's flowers from the backseat. As Wilson turned his head, House thought he could see the glint of tears in the younger vampire's eyes.

House stepped of the vehicle and went to the driver's door. When Wilson got out, House advanced towards him and reached behind him to swing shut the driver's side door. He growled and Wilson backed away nervously, but there was nowhere to go.

Wilson was confused, not sure what he had done to anger House. For the past few days, ever since House had promised him a trip to Amber's grave, Wilson had been trying to show his gratitude by being exactly the kind of vampire House wanted him to be.

House was standing very close to him, and Wilson was pressed against the side of the SUV. Wilson looked down at the ground, arms limp at his sides, not moving a muscle. House leaned in and Wilson felt his breath against his neck. House's whiskers grated against his own smooth cheeks. Wilson lifted his neck, knowing what was required of him. House's lips pressed against his neck in the parody of a kiss and Wilson could feel his razor sharp fangs scrape across his skin. Wilson let out a little sound, something halfway in between a moan and a whine, desire and fear in equal measures. He shut his eyes tightly. The sight of House's fangs would shatter his fragile composure, which was all that kept the other vampire from attacking him.

House's closed his razor sharp teeth against his best friend`s neck. It was a bite that almost but not quite broke the skin, and a very convincing demonstration of House's superb self-control and mastery of his vampiric instincts. Wilson stood very still, hardly daring to breathe. House increased the pressure very slightly and one sharp fang just pierced the skin, producing a perfect pearl of blood. House touched his finger to the droplet and then brought his bloodied finger to Wilson's mouth. Wilson licked it clean.

House's demonstration was apparently over, although what Wilson had done to offend the more powerful vampire was still a mystery to him. The younger vampire felt limp with relief. When House stepped back, his knees gave way under him. Still clutching Amber's bouquet in his left hand, he put his arms around House's neck to stop himself from falling.

House nuzzled him, loosening the sombre tie Wilson was wearing for the occasion and undoing the top two buttons of his carefully ironed shirt so that he could reach the nape of his neck. Wilson arched his back when House found the right spot, purring like a kitten. His grip on Amber's bouquet loosened and the flowers fell to the ground. Wilson didn't notice.

House`s normally agile fingers fumbled with recalcitrant buttons and stubborn zippers. He buried his face in Wilson's neck. His lips brushed lightly against Wilson's skin, little almost kisses that made Wilson groan with frustrated longing.

"Kiss me," Wilson murmured. "Please kiss me first."

House shook his head. He took another decisive step back breaking Wilson's hold. Caught off-balance, the other vampire almost fell, grabbing hold of the SUV's door handle before he slid to the ground. Wilson looked up, meeting House's coldly brilliant blue eyes.

Wilson was definitely crying now. Tears streamed down his cheeks. They weren't tears for poor dead Amber this time though, House thought cynically; they were tears for poor undead Wilson, whose nasty lover had scared and then rejected him.

"No, not until you answer me. Do you belong to me or to Amber?"

House waited for an answer, staring into the other vampire's eyes until Wilson looked away.

"I'm alive and she's dead. I can hold you in my arms and she can't. Damn it, Wilson, the choice should be obvious! Do you belong to me?"

"Yes, I belong to you," Wilson answered, his voice a bare whisper.

"Not to Amber, not to Ceci, not to anyone else."

Wilson nodded reluctantly, not meeting House's eyes.

"Good," House said. He bent down to pick up one slightly battered bouquet and handed it to Wilson. "I'm giving you tonight to say good-bye to Amber. I'll pick you up before dawn. We'll stop at a nice motel instead of trying to drive all the way back."

He leaned forward to give Wilson his promised kiss – a chaste peck on the cheek. Wilson didn't look up. House got into the SUV and drove away, leaving Wilson alone by the cemetery gates.

Mia had given Remy hope when she had none, which was marvellous and exciting but also overwhelming.

Of course, Mia had explained that miracles aren't free. The market value of what Mia had to offer was incalculable, and much as she liked Thirteen, she couldn't just give it away. There had to be price, but fortunately for Thirteen, it was very reasonable. Immortality in exchange for House.

Remy had nodded, not really taking in very much, while Mia told her why she wanted House – something about House having hurt another vampire that Mia liked and Wilson had been involved too somehow. She'd just nodded her head as Mia talked, slowly letting the idea that she didn't have to die soak into her mind.

Remy wasn't the only one looking for House. Mia wanted House badly and she had sent half a dozen of her most devoted human servants on the hunt. It was a contest and everlasting life was the prize. Remy had always been good at contests.

Remy's strongest advantage was her personal connection to House. Even though Mia suspected that her quarry was somewhere in New York, Remy was convinced that the key to finding him was in Princeton. She crashed on a friend's couch in Princeton and talked to everyone she could think of who had some connection to House or Wilson. She even cornered the hospital's Dean of Medicine in the hospital parking lot. Cuddy had claimed to know no more about House's current location than anyone else. She'd seemed evasive, but when Remy had tried to question her more thoroughly, the Dean had taken out her cellphone and threatened to call hospital security.

Remy spoke to the prostitutes whose services House had used and interviewed Wilson's ex-wives and former girlfriends. She bribed the manager at House's apartment building to let her sift through the boxes of papers he had left behind.

Remy found the program for Amber Volakis's funeral in one of the boxes. It was printed on heavy paper, stuffed in a manila envelope with a collection of take-out menus. The program had given her an idea which she had to admit was quite a long shot. Still it was the only idea she had.

Wilson leaned against the cemetery gates, breathing slowly and regularly, trying to calm down. He didn't want to let his anger and humiliation poison his last chance to feel close to Amber. He rearranged his clothing and combed his hair, wishing for at least the thousandth time that he could see his own reflection in a mirror.

Amber deserved better than him.

With Amber's bedraggled flowers in one hand, he scaled the cemetery gates and dropped to the ground almost soundlessly. He had visited Amber's grave once or twice a week for months, so he had no trouble finding it in the dark. He stopped short when he saw someone else was at Amber's grave.

Amber's after-hours visitor was sitting in an aluminum lawn chair next to the grave. One leg of the lawn chair actually rested on his girlfriend's grave marker. Wilson growled at this sign of disrespect. Although the visitor could not possibly have heard him, something made her feel uneasy. She lifted her head and Wilson recognized her. It was one of House's former fellows. House had called her Thirteen, but Wilson couldn't remember what her real name was.

Wilson's night vision was keen and he could make out every detail of Thirteen's appearance. He saw that House's fellow had wrapped herself in a blanket against the night's chill. A heavy wooden stake was on her lap and an over-sized and rather ugly crucifix hung from her neck. For added protection, she had surrounded herself with a ring of garlic cloves. A Thermos, possibly containing holy water, was on the ground next to her feet.

"You know a stake through the heart will kill a person just as easily as it will a vampire. I'm much stronger and faster than you," Wilson said. "If I were you, I'd throw it into the bushes and deprive the vampire of a chance to use it. Nobody wants an ironic death."

Wilson was standing only a few yards away from Thirteen, hands on hips, with an exasperated expression on his face.

House's former fellow stood up, clutching the stake and striking a martial arts pose. Wilson darted forward, snatched the weapon from her hands and threw it away. Thirteen's expression of dismay was almost comical.

"What are you doing here?" Wilson asked.

"I was waiting for you," Thirteen said. "I thought you might want to visit your dead girlfriend's grave on her birthday."

"I can see you came prepared," Wilson said, looking at the assorted vampire-hunting paraphernalia with which Thirteen had surrounded herself. He kicked one of the garlic cloves with the toe of his shoe, breaking the circle.

"Garlic doesn't work at all; it's an old wives' tale. And religious symbols are powered by belief, so if you don't have faith, they have no effect."

He reached over and grasped the crucifix around Thirteen's neck.

"Barely even warm," he commented, yanking the crucifix from its chain and letting it drop to the ground.

"I've come to make a deal with you," Thirteen said.

Wilson was impressed that House's former fellow was able to keep her voice steady.

"I'm dying and I don't want to die. I want to be immortal. I know I'd make an excellent vampire. I'm intelligent and beautiful and everything a vampire should be."

"I'm not particularly interesting in creating the world's best vampire," Wilson said drily. "Having another power-hungry vamp around giving me orders isn't much of a selling point."

"But I can help you. You and House have made enemies. Other vampires are looking for you. Make me into one of you and I'll be on your side. I know I'll be a strong vampire, stronger than House."

"You'll be our bodyguard. You'll protect us," Wilson said in a doubtful tone.

"I will."

"If we don't take your deal?"

"I have an offer from the other side," Thirteen said, "I'd much prefer to ally myself with House, of course, which is why I'm giving you a chance to make a counter-offer."

"Who is the other side?" Wilson asked.

"I'll tell you all about it after you initiate me, not before."

Wilson nodded.

"I'll have to bring this up with House. He makes all the decisions."

"Of course," Thirteen said. She smiled condescendingly.

"I'll take you to meet him."

Wilson bent down to put the bouquet of flowers in the metal container that the cemetery provided. He took a smooth grey stone from his coat pocket and placed it on Amber's grave marker. Then Wilson walked into the darkness heading straight towards the cemetery gates, not bothering to take the pathways. A few steps behind, stumbling in the darkness, Thirteen struggled to keep up.

Thirteen couldn't be trusted. She had readily admitted that her allegiance was negotiable. Reluctantly, Wilson concluded that he had to kill her, but he didn't want to kill Thirteen on the grounds of the cemetery where Amber was buried. That would be disrespectful to his girlfriend's memory.

"It wasn't the smartest idea in the world, confronting a vampire on your own. Are you drunk or high or crazy?" Wilson asked.

"Maybe a little of all three," Thirteen said. "But mainly I'm just desperate. Knowing that there's a cure out there for my disease, and not being able to get it... you can't imagine what that's like."

Wilson scaled the cemetery gates effortlessly, then turned around to help Thirteen. She paused to catch her breath.

"Where's your car?" Thirteen asked, looking at the empty street.

Wilson didn't answer. She turned to look at him. Something in his determined bearing warned her of danger. Wilson saw the spark of fear in her eyes and he leapt toward her. He didn't notice the object in her hand until a fraction of a second before she struck. It was another stake.

She was trying for the heart but her blow wasn't forceful enough to penetrate the sternum. Thirteen stabbed again, not trying for precision this time, just aiming to incapacitate him and give herself time to escape. It was sheer luck that she succeeded. Wilson reached out to grab her, his sharp fingernails raking her jacket, before he sank to the ground, the stake protruding from his chest.

He watched Thirteen run away. It wouldn't take her long to notice that he wasn't giving chase. She'd realize that she had seriously wounded him and then she'd come back for him. Wilson wasn't in any shape to defend himself. Slowly and painfully, he crept out of the circle of light cast by the streetlight. He'd hide until House came back to get him.

He'd almost made it to the safety of darkness, when a figure emerged from the shadows. A young girl with skin so fair that it almost glowed in the dark and luminous green eyes. Wilson knew instantly that she was one of his own kind.

"Thirteen was bait," Wilson said.

"Yup," Mia smiled, kneeling down next to him.

Efficiently she used one long fingernail to rip open Wilson's shirt so she could examine his wound.

"Let's get you fixed up. You won't be much use to us dead."


	21. Wilson's Nightmare

**Wilson's Nightmare**

The red-headed girl examined Wilson's wound by the light of the streetlamp. She reached out to touch the stake protruding from his chest.

"Don't pull it out," Wilson cautioned. His voice was a bare whisper.

"Okay," she said, rocking back on her heels. "You're the expert; what do I do?"

"You'll need to get supplies; gloves, gauze, tape, something to seal the wound – a plastic bag or even a credit card will do - alcohol to sterilize the plastic bag..."

"So I go off to get supplies and when I come back, you're gone. Not likely."

"I've got a stake sticking out of my chest. I'm not going to run off."

The vampire looked down at him, considering, and Wilson stared back at her. His eyelids fluttered as he fought to maintain consciousness. Blood soaked into the ground beneath him.

"Fine," she said at last, standing up. She drew a pair of handcuffs from her purse.. "But I'm going to take precautions, just in case."

She came up from behind and grabbed Wilson under the arms, dragging him towards the cemetery gates. Then she cuffed Wilson's right wrist to the railing of the cemetery gates.

"Normally this wouldn't be enough to hold a vampire," she said, "but I think it will do for someone in your condition. Besides you're not much of a vampire, are you? Thirteen stabbed you twice, and you didn't even touch her. It was the funniest thing I've ever seen in my life. Like a bunny rabbit beating up a wolf."

The vampire smiled and got to her feet.

Wilson waited until she was out of sight and then took his cellphone from his pocket. He had House's cell number on speed dial, but the former diagnostician wasn't answering. Wilson swore under his breath. He had to stop House from returning to the cemetery. He texted House a message: " dont pick me up im hitchhiking home". Then he tossed his cellphone into the bushes.

House had parked the S.U.V. half a block away. He watched Lucas open the door to Cuddy's house and walk to his car.. He wanted more than anything else in the world to rip out the throat of his former friend, but he knew that if he acted on his instincts, he would ruin his chances with Cuddy for all time. House glared at Lucas's vehicle until it turned the corner out of sight. He realized that he was growling and took a moment to let his anger subside before he grabbed the roses from the backseat of the vehicle and walked to Cuddy's door.

Cuddy answered his knock. She was wearing a long terrycloth robe and had a towel over her damp hair. Her feet were bare and a pair of reading glasses was perched precariously on her nose. She hastily removed them and stuffed them in the pocket of her robe.

"House," she said, stepping aside to let him enter. Her tone was resigned rather than welcoming.

"Hello, Lisa," House said, handing her the roses. He wanted to embrace her, but she held the bouquet in front of her, keeping him at bay.

"Aren't you going to put them in water?" he said, looking at the roses.

"They're beautiful but I can't take them. Lucas would wonder where they came from."

"Well, the roses were Wilson's idea. I was thinking chocolates. That way you eat the evidence."

"Wilson's not with you?"

"Gave him the night off. He's got a hot date with a dead girlfriend."

House sat down on the couch. Cuddy put the wrapped bouquet on the coffee table and sat in the armchair opposite him.

"I thought I'd be seeing you soon," Cuddy said. "I've been dealing with the fallout from your phone call all week. Lucas has been asking all sorts of questions ever since he heard your voice on the phone. And then one of your former fellows showed up to interrogate me about you.."

"One of my former fellows?" House asked. "Which one? Cameron?"

"Hadley," Cuddy answered. "You didn't happen to make any three a.m. phone calls to her, did you?"

"No."

"I can guess why you're here. If it's about me and Lucas..."

"He's a placeholder - someone you get to step in temporarily when the real thing isn't available. Do you really want to share your life with a substitute, Lisa? Lucas is cubic zirconia."

"Of course, the only possible reason that I could want to be with another man is because he's a substitute for you.

Have you ever thought that I might like Lucas for himself? He's charming and thoughtful and Rachel loves him. Best of all, he has never, ever made comments about my 'snugly little blouse bunnies' in front of an entire room full of corporate donors."

"Is this about needing a father for Rachel?"

"My personal life is none of your business, House."

"That means yes," House said. "After twenty-five years of being picky and having standards impossible for any human male to meet, you suddenly decide to settle for the first thing with a Y-chromosome to come along, just so Rachel can have a dad. Any dad. Even one who rides a skateboard to work."

"Lucas cares about me and he cares about Rachel. " Lisa frowned. "He'll be back any minute, and unless you want to explain to him where you've been for the last few months, you're going to have to leave. You can take the roses with you."

She leaned over to pick up the flowers and the terrycloth robe opened a little, allowing House a much appreciated glimpse of her cleavage.

"Lucas isn't coming back any minute," House said confidently. "He's gone to see a client at Newark Airport and he won't be back for at least two hours. Longer, because I think he's just about to get a text message from his client telling him that he's been unavoidably delayed."

House smiled and Cuddy sank back into her armchair. She pulled the robe tighter around her as if she felt a chill. She'd almost forgotten what House really was, until that smile reminded her.

House pulled out his cellphone. He texted Lucas a message from "Mr. Hildebrandt", and then read the message Wilson had sent him. He frowned for a fraction of a second, than snapped his cellphone shut decisively and put it back in his pocket.

"What's the matter?"

"Wilson's pissed off at me," House said. "Nothing important."

The female vampire had followed Wilson's instructions. She wasn't particularly gentle but at least she didn't cause him pain deliberately.

Wilson knew that vampires healed more quickly than humans, but his personal experience was confined to scratches, nips and minor scrapes. He had no idea how long it might take him to recover from a punctured lung. Still, with every breath, with every heartbeat, he felt himself growing stronger. Cautiously, not wanting to attract his captor's attention, he pulled against the handcuff, testing its strength.

The red-headed vampire was sitting in the grass a few feet away. She had a vampire's perfect stillness and grace in repose. In her cross-legged posture, she looked like a Yoga master deep in a meditative trance. Wilson had no idea who she was. She hadn't introduced herself. In his mind, he called her the fox girl.

"House isn't coming back for you, is he?" she said, turning her head to look at Wilson. Her green eyes were pitiless, cold and brilliant. "You must have warned him."

She crossed the distance between them in an instant and began to search him.

"Where is it?" she said, growling and hissing as she turned out his pockets.

She was in a frenzy and Wilson did not even try to resist her. He did not want the other vampire to know how much a short period of rest had restored him. It gave him a tiny advantage to have her underestimate him.

Her razor sharp nails, which had been painted a cheerful bubblegum pink, were red with Wilson's blood. His clothes were torn and he was bleeding from half a dozen carelessly inflicted scratches and cuts.

Wilson shook his head weakly. "I don't know what you're looking for."

"Your phone, the one you used to warn House. I took care of you, I saved your life, and that's how you pay me back."

The fox girl hadn't found anything on his person other than his wallet. She removed the money and Wilson's fake i.d. and tossed the empty wallet away. It landed in the bushes, inches away from the incriminating cellphone.

"The sun will be up soon. I should just leave you here to die. Let you burn to a cinder."

Wilson said nothing. The fox girl was still for a moment, considering Wilson's fate. Then she stood up abruptly and walked away.

As soon as her back was turned, Wilson strained against the handcuffs. The cuff on his wrist bit into his flesh, but he thought one of the links on the chain was starting to give.

House knew that the life Cuddy was living wasn't the life she really wanted. She was playing it safe: choosing a socially acceptable career and motherhood instead of following her true path, which was much darker and more ambitious. Everything she really wanted could be hers, if she would only admit that she wanted it. He was certain that she would love her new life as a vampire just as much as he loved his. House just needed to make her understand what he was offering her.

House took Cuddy's hand in her own, and she recoiled at his touch, but he looked into her eyes, willing her to be calm, to listen, to accept. For a moment, he was sure he had her.

Then the sound of Rachel crying and fussing came from the baby monitor, and Cuddy jumped up from the armchair where she had been sitting. She went to tend to her mewling brat. When she came back downstairs a few minutes later, Cuddy had changed into a form-fitting jersey dress and a pair of stiletto heels. She'd even put on lipstick. She looked sexy and powerful and beautiful.

House almost snarled in frustration, knowing that that brief moment of exquisite vulnerability had passed him by. She had armoured herself against him.

He snapped up the rejected bouquet of roses and strode out of her house, slamming the door behind him. The sound of Rachel's startled wails followed House down the street.

Why couldn't he ever get what he wanted? Why did the people he needed try to thwart his plans for them? Why couldn't they ever just love and obey him? If it wasn't Cuddy throwing herself at the boy detective, then it was Wilson mooning over Amber, his perfect dead girlfriend.

House threw the bouquet in the back of the SUV, and pulled his cellphone out of pocket to check for messages. Nothing from Wilson. Just a plaintive voice mail from Lucas to Mr. Hildebrandt, asking for his E.T.A. House deleted Lucas's message, and then dialled Wilson's cell number. No answer. Still pouting no doubt.

House sent him a text message. He wanted to write "Pick up the phone, you idiot. I know you're avoiding me." but that was too much work so he texted "call me." instead. Wilson could read between the lines.

House turned the key in the ignition and pressed down hard on the gas, letting the engine roar.

Finally the link gave way and Wilson was free. He got to his feet, using the railings to pull himself upright. He headed towards the bushes where his cellphone had landed. He was cautiously lowering himself to pick up the phone, bending his knees like a ballet dancer to avoid having to move his torso, when he saw the lights of an approaching vehicle, a nondescript grey van.

Wilson waved his arms trying to attract the driver's attention, hoping for a ride into town. Then he saw that the driver was a red-headed girl. The female vampire turned the wheel of her vehicle sharply in his direction. Wilson dove for cover behind a large tree.

The red-headed girl slammed on her brakes.

"I was coming back for you," she called out. "I was only joking when I said I was going to let you burn. I told you I wanted you alive, didn't I?"

The exertion had reopened his wound. Wilson was bleeding again. He couldn't run away from her when he had to struggle to breathe. He couldn't fight her when every movement caused him excruciating pain. All he could do was hide.

She could see in the dark, of course, probably better than he could. She could smell his blood.

He heard the van door slam shut. She was coming for him.

Wilson could feel a pitiful animal whine in his throat threatening to escape. At that moment, Wilson despised his own weakness. He hated that cowardly instinct in him that told him to submit to the will of a more powerful vampire.

A vehicle came round the corner, briefly silhouetting the vampire in the beam of its headlights. Her figure was slight and girlish and she was carrying Thirteen's stake, still coated with Wilson's blood, in her right hand.

Wilson felt as if he were back in one of his nightmares, but this time there was no House around to wake him up.

House waited until he was around the next curve and then made a U-turn. He put his foot down hard on the gas pedal and then slammed on the brakes, sending the SUV into a skid directly in the path of the female vampire. She jumped out of the way, but the vehicle's side mirror hit her and knocked her off her feet. Her nails left long scrapes on the side of his SUV.

House opened the door of the SUV and called out towards the patch of shadowy undergrowth where he knew that Wilson must be hiding.

"Come on, Wilson!" he yelled. "Hurry!"

No response. Cursing, he jumped out of the vehicle to get his friend.

Wilson lifted his head as House approached.

"I'm over here," he said. "I'm hurt."

House scooped him up and carried him back to the S.U.V. The female vampire had gotten to her feet and growled ferociously at House, who ignored her. House pushed the semi-conscious Wilson into the passenger seat and then climbed in. The female vampire had reached the SUV and was pulling on the locked passenger-side door. House put the SUV into reverse and drove away, just as the vampire ripped the door from its hinges. Using one arm to steady Wilson and stop him from falling out of the open door, he backed up on to the road and headed back to town, flooring the gas pedal all the way.

"Who was that?" House asked.

"Fox girl."

"How badly are you injured?"

"Punctured lung."

"I'll kill her."

"It wasn't fox girl. Thirteen. My fault. I hesitated."

House pulled up in front of Cuddy's house. He carried Wilson up the walkway to Cuddy's door. Cuddy had once invited them in, which meant that he could enter her house whenever he wanted. This time he didn't bother to knock. He kicked the door in.

Wilson was asleep in Cuddy's spare bedroom/study. House sat beside his bed watching him sleep while Cuddy finished covering the windows with aluminum foil.

"How is he?"

"He'll be fine. A human would have died, but we're a lot tougher."

"How did you know he was in trouble?"

"The text message he sent me. Very blunt. No punctuation, no capital letters. That's how most people text, but not Wilson. When he leaves me a note to tell me he's gone to pick up a newspaper, he starts it with 'Dear Gregory' and ends it with 'Yours very truly, James.' I knew he'd have to be in a blind panic to leave out all the apostrophes and periods."

Cuddy nodded.

"I'm wondering how I'm going to explain the broken door to Lucas," she said.

"You could say it was a gang of enraged beavers, or you could tell him the truth. A vampire kicked it down. Of course, the lie sounds more plausible."

"I couldn't tell him the truth. He thinks vampires are cool."

"And you don't."

"You kill people," she said. "I hate that I'm giving you refuge. I should be turning you into the police."

"Why aren't you then?"

"Gregory House saved a lot of lives. He was a great physician and an extraordinary human being. I guess I'm helping you out of respect for his memory."

Cuddy paused, her hand on the doorknob.

"But if you ever do anything to hurt my family, I'll drive a stake through your heart myself. Understood?"

"Understood."


	22. Loss and Recovery

Lisa Cuddy took a deep breath. So much needed to be done. House had, as usual, brought chaos to her meticulously organized life.

Cuddy followed a trail of blood down the stairs, through the foyer, out the door and down the walkway. It led to House's damaged and stolen SUV directly in front of her house. The presence of the SUV in front of her house would pinpoint Wilson's location to whoever had attacked him and was sure to attract the attention of Cuddy's neighbours.

The passenger door had been ripped off and the passenger seat was soaked in blood. The sharp metallic tang of blood made Cuddy's stomach turn over, even though her years in medicine should have made her used to it. How much blood had Wilson lost? Surely he could not survive such a blood loss without a transfusion.

Gregory House, however, had said that Wilson would live, and as House knew more about vampires than she did, he was probably right.

She couldn't leave Rachel alone in the house with two vampires, so disposing of the SUV properly would have to wait. All she had time to do was get it out of sight before her neighbours woke up and saw it. Fortunately, House had left the keys to the ignition, so she moved it into her garage and parked her car out on the street.

Cuddy was washing the blood from her walkway with a garden hose, when a police car pulled up. Her hands shook as she carefully put the hose down and walked towards the patrol car, meeting the officer as he stepped out of his car. He was in his early twenties, his boyish appearance offset by his serious manner.

""Hello, officer," she said, "I guess one of my neighbours called you about a little disturbance at my house a little earlier. I'm Dr. Lisa Cuddy, Dean of Medicine at Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital."

She put out her hand to shake, but the policeman did not take it.

"That's right, ma'am," he said. "We had a report of a possible break and enter."

"That was me. I'd accidentally locked myself out of my own home with my daughter inside. I could hear her crying and I was desperate to get to her. I had to break in, which was what the neighbours saw."

"They said someone kicked the door down," the policeman said, looking at the gap where the door used to be. Then he looked at Cuddy. His gaze travelled down to the impractical black stilettos she was wearing. "Was that you?"

"No, it wasn't," Cuddy said. "A man in an SUV pulled over when he saw that I was in distress. I told him that I was locked out, and he said he'd help. I thought he would phone a locksmith on his cellphone, or maybe break a window, but before I realized what he was going to do, he kicked down the door."

The policeman looked at her without any expression on his face, which was somehow more disquieting than open disbelief.

"Let's see some identification," he said.

Cuddy headed back to the house and the policeman followed her a few steps behind. Her heart raced, and she struggled to contain her panic. The policeman was sure to spot the pool of blood by the door. However, there was no blood in the foyer, just a few barely noticeable stains in the hardwood floor where the blood had had time to soak into the wood. She looked up and saw House at the top of the stairs, a bloody piece of cloth in his hands, and then he turned around the corner and was gone.

"I don't think he believed me," Cuddy told House, "but he couldn't prove I was lying so he had to leave."

"Good."

She had expected House to be at Wilson's bedside, tending to their patient, but House was sitting at her desk in front of her laptop computer. Cuddy glanced at the screen, then strode across the room and slammed the laptop shut.

"You're looking at hospital personnel files. How did you get in? Those are supposed to be private!"

"If you wanted them to be private," House said reasonably, "then you shouldn't have written your password on the underside of your mouse pad. Nipples. Your nickname in high school?"

"That`s Nibbles, the name of the gerbil I had when I was five. What were you looking for?" Cuddy asked.

"Thirteen`s current address," House said, "but the only address listed for her is Foreman`s old place."

"She's no longer employed by the hospital," Cuddy said. "Thirteen was fired months ago. She's threatening to launch a wrongful dismissal suit against us, though our lawyers say she doesn't have a chance of succeeding.

Why do you want her address? No, don't tell me. I don't want to know. Just promise me that I won't see her on the news as Princeton's latest homicide victim."

"I can't promise that. I'm not the only vampire looking for her."

"Don't tell me that there are more of you out there!"

At the sound of her raised voice, Wilson's eyelids flickered and his shallow painful respiration quickened. Wilson gasped and sputtered, emerging from the dreamless depths of unconsciousness like a diver coming up for air. Cuddy took a step towards Wilson, reaching out to calm him, but House stepped between them.

"Don't touch him," he said to Cuddy," don't startle him, and don't raise your voice. He's hurt and hungry and in pain and that makes him unpredictable. A vampire is at his most dangerous when he's vulnerable."

His voice was stern. He glanced at Cuddy, his brilliant blue eyes as cold as icicles, then turned all his attention to Wilson. Cuddy could feel herself blushing like a chastised child.

House leaned over the other vampire. Cuddy caught the word "safe" repeated several times, but the rest of what he said was too low for her to hear. The words seemed to have an effect because Wilson's laboured breathing eased and his eyes closed. .

When House turned back to Cuddy, she was standing by the bedroom door, holding her laptop in front of her like a shield.

"I want you both gone tomorrow, even if you have to carry him out on a stretcher," she said.

She shut the door behind her.

Cuddy leaned against the door, holding back tears. She almost never cried and she didn't understand why she crying now. House was out of her life. She had Lucas now. Why did House still have the power to hurt her?

She wished that she could despise House, but she couldn't. House still loved her and as long as he was capable of loving her, she knew that something human and good remained in him. She wished that she could somehow reverse the process that had transformed him into a vampire and rescue him from Wilson's corrupting influence.

Cuddy composed herself. She did not have the time to indulge in emotions. There was still too much to do. She had to call a handyman about fixing the broken door, dispose of Wilson's bloody and ripped clothes, call the hospital and tell them she'd be late, find out how to remove soaked- in bloodstains from hardwood floors ...Cuddy suppressed an hysterical giggle.

First, Cuddy locked the door to her spare bedroom/office. The locked door was not to keep House and Wilson in, but to keep everyone else out. Her house began to fill with people. First the handyman arrived, lured out of bed by the promise of double his usual fee if he would do the job immediately, then the housekeeper and then Rachel's babysitter. To each in turn, she repeated her story about how the door had been damaged. No one doubted her version of events.

By the time Lucas returned, disappointed after his wasted trip to Newark airport, she'd regained her confidence. She had practiced telling her story so often that she almost believed it herself. Lucas didn't ask her any questions, but something told her that he didn't quite believe her. Lucas was a private investigator. He could usually tell when people were lying to him.

"I'm exhausted," she said to Lucas. "I couldn't sleep at all last night knowing that anyone could just walk into the house. I'm going to take the morning off work and go back to bed. You must be tired too. Why don't you join me?

With his acute vampiric hearing, House could hear every whispered endearment, every moan of pleasure. He growled, low and deep in his chest. He could, if he wanted, rip through the flimsy wall that separated him from Lucas. He could rip out his rival's throat with his teeth, tear him to shreds with his talon-like nails, gulp down every ounce of his blood until he dried up and blew away.

The growl, which signified danger, woke Wilson up instantly.

"Not now," Wilson said quietly, each syllable he spoke visibly causing him pain. "Too many people around."

"Later," House said.

Wilson nodded. He propped himself up against the headboard. House turned away from him, unable to tolerate the sympathy he saw in Wilson's soft brown eyes.

The sounds of love-making were mercifully interrupted by Rachel's unhappy wail, telling the world that she was hungry and alone. There was a creak of bedsprings as Cuddy got up to tend to her.

House kicked off his running shoes, and still fully dressed, climbed into bed. Wilson inched closer, and House gently took him into his arms. With House's strong arms around him, breathing in the scent of his body, Wilson felt safe at last. House was there to watch over him and protect him. Wilson relaxed into his lover's arms, shut his eyes, and fell into a deep healing sleep almost instantly.

It was a few minutes before sunset. Lucas had gone to work, Rachel was napping, and the house was quiet. Cuddy knocked on the door to the spare bedroom, mindful of House's warning not to startle a vampire.

House was once again sitting at her desk, this time leafing through an old issue of a medical journal. He clothes were rumpled and he looked as if he had not slept at all.

Wilson was still in bed. When Cuddy entered the room, he sat up, wincing slightly. His movements were still slow and careful and he was very pale, but he was in astonishingly good shape for someone who had been near death only twelve hours before.

She tossed a plastic bag on to the bed.

"I bought you some new clothes. Nothing you had on was salvageable. Get dressed. Then I'll drive you both back to New York."

Wilson pulled a t-shirt out of the bag. Purchased from the hospital gift shop, it carried the slogan "It's a boy!" and a picture of a cartoon stork carrying a bundle. There was also a pair of grey sweatpants, tube socks and a pair of underpants, all still wrapped in plastic.

"Thank you for the clothes, but we don't need a ride into the city. We can make our own way back."

"Your SUV is missing a door and the passenger seat is covered with blood. You'll be stopped by the police."

"We can hitchhike or steal another car," Wilson said. "You really don't have to give us a ride."

House didn't waste time being tactful.

"What Wilson means is that he's lost a lot of blood, and he's hungry, and he's going to have to go hunting very soon. And he doesn't think you want to be anywhere in the vicinity when that happens."

Cuddy nodded, suddenly feeling sick. By saving Wilson's life, she'd condemned an innocent person to death.

"Fine. Where can I drop you off?"

House sat by the window, and Wilson sat next to the driver. Wilson looked uncomfortable. He wished the guy would stop talking He didn't like knowing too much about the people he was going to kill. It was so much easier when his prey was an anonymous stranger.

The driver moved to adjust the volume on the radio, and his hand brushed against Wilson's leg for the third time. Wilson moved over a few inches, giving the driver more room, and then realized that the driver was coming on to him. If Wilson had been his old human self, he would have known that at least twenty-five miles ago, but since he'd become a vampire he'd lost a little of his ability to read people.

The driver looked at Wilson in the rear view mirror, and Wilson met his eyes for two significant seconds before demurely dropping his gaze.

"There's a rest stop just up ahead," the driver said, putting on his left turn signal and moving to the outside lane. "Got to take a leak."

"Me too," Wilson said.

House got out of the truck to let Wilson pass by. Wilson was trembling. Nerves.

House gave them two minutes before following them into the darkness, which was more than enough time. If Wilson hadn't killed the driver by then, he'd kill the man himself and force Wilson to drink, proper vampire etiquette be damned.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Wilson with his victim. The driver was still alive, his head cradled on Wilson's lap. Tidily, Wilson had spread the driver's jacket over his legs, to avoid getting blood on his clothes. House knelt down to take his share of the kill. As Wilson's protector, he was entitled to at least half of Wilson's kill, but House seldom took more than a token mouthful of blood.

"I've had enough," House said. "You can have the rest."

While Wilson drank, House took the victim's wallet from the pocket of his jeans. Even with his superior vampire eyesight, it was so dark beneath the trees that he could barely make out the man's name on his driver's license. He removed his money from the wallet but left everything else.

Wilson, watching over his shoulder, had noticed a photo in the wallet – a picture of the driver, looking quite a few years younger, standing next to a woman and child.

"He was a devoted husband and father," Wilson said.

"Not that devoted a husband, since he wanted to go off into the bushes with you," House said.

He stood up, and offered Wilson his hand. Wilson moved his victim's head from his lap, took House's hand, and let House pull him to his feet. House strode purposefully back to the truck and Wilson dawdled uncertainly after him. House climbed into the cab of the semi. He had never driven one before, but he was sure it would be easy. He'd pick it up as he went along.

House spent much of the drive back to New York questioning Wilson about his staking. He made him recall every detail of that night and repeat every word that Thirteen and the red-headed vampire had said. The whole humiliating and painful evening was one that Wilson would very much like to forget, but House would not let him. Wilson was exhausted and thoroughly fed up with House`s cross- examination.

Wilson went to bed as soon as they got back home, but House stayed up for hours. His mind was much too busy to let him sleep and he paced their shoebox-sized apartment like a caged tiger. It was almost noon when he finally went to bed. Still unable to sleep, House stared out into the darkness and listened to Wilson breathe. Each breath was shallow, painful and infinitely precious to House.

He'd lost Cuddy, but Wilson was still his, the only thing he possessed that still mattered to him. Thirteen and the red-haired girl had tried to take him away. House`s vampire nature cried out for vengeance.


	23. Domestic Disturbances

**Domestic Disturbances**

Remy Hadley, known to a few as Thirteen, had run until she couldn't run any more, expecting every second to be tackled and dragged into the bushes and trees that lined the road. She hadn't wasted her energy in looking back. She had gone flat-out, pushing her body, already weakened by her illness, to its absolute limits. In the end, her legs just gave out on her and she collapsed to the ground. Shaking with fatigue, fear, and the effects of her body's own adrenaline, Remy vomited weakly.

This was how she would die then – not the slow wasting away she had been dreading for as long as she could remember – but suddenly and violently.

She braced herself for an attack that didn't come. When she looked up, Remy was alone. Had Wilson just given up and decided to settle for easier game? Had her wild, desperate blow hit its mark? She didn't know. She fell back on to the grass, trying to catch her breath, and then curled up as her empty stomach cramped.

When the cramps eased, she turned to face the night sky. Her eyes were filled with tears and she was gasping, coughing, desperate for air. Her hair was streaked with vomit and she shook uncontrollably. In between bouts of nausea and cramping, she watched the stars disappear from view as the sky lightened. The sun crept over the horizon. It was just after dawn when she finally got to her feet.

The lights of town were inviting but seemed impossibly distant. Instead, Remy headed back to her car, which was parked by the side of a service road out of sight.

Passing the cemetery, Remy spotted the tire tracks in the grass and went to examine them. She thought that more than one vehicle must have churned up the damp earth, carving deep ruts into the neatly manicured lawn just outside the gates. Then she spotted something else of interest. She knelt down to examine the item, ignoring her protesting muscles. It was one of a pair of handcuffs, the cuff still attached to a broken chain.

Kneeling down had been a mistake. She couldn't get up again. Remy sat down on the damp grass for a moment, giving her body a moment to recover. A metallic glint beneath a bush caught her eye, and she crawled painfully toward it. The glint was the sun reflecting on the metallic body of a cheap cell phone. She picked the phone up and put it in her jacket pocket. Next to it was a leather wallet, damp with morning dew. She opened the wallet, but it was empty so she left it there.

There was a story here, but Remy was too exhausted to make sense of it. She got to her feet and headed back to her car.

Remy had came home to an empty apartment. Her girlfriend Carissa had already left for work, leaving a note for Remy on the table. The note was sprinkled with angry exclamation points, and Remy had crumpled it up and tossed in the wastepaper basket without reading it.

She took the cell phone out of her pocket. The first saved number was labelled "H". "H" for House, maybe?

Remy entered the saved numbers in an internet phone directory. "H"'s phone number was unlisted. Most of the others were for bars and restaurants, all of them in New York City and all offering live music. House had been a musician once upon a time; maybe he was again. Even vampires must have to earn a living.

She could give this cell phone to Mia and it might be enough to buy her immortality if it led Mia to House and if Mia kept her promises. A lot of "ifs".

She could bypass Mia and negotiate with House directly.

She didn't owe Mia anything. She'd told her about her hunch – that Wilson would visit his ex-girlfriend's grave on her birthday – and Mia had heard her out and wished her luck. She hadn't offered to come with her, and she hadn't told Mia that the crosses, garlic and holy water she was using to protect herself were about as effective as water wings in the face of a tsunami.

Mia hadn't cared enough to warn her. Her indifference hurt, because Remy had actually liked her. The vampire was fun, and Remy had very little fun in her life. Mia was full of life and mischief and she didn't give a damn about anyone else. There had been a spark between them, and it had nothing to do with physical appearances. Compared to Remy, Mia was positively homely. She was fixed for all time at a particularly awkward stage of adolescence.

The sound of a key in the lock interrupted Remy's thoughts. Carissa, her current girlfriend, had returned. Carissa was a striking blue-eyed, Scandinavian blonde. Remy was a mysterious brunette with eyes that could look blue or green or grey or any shade in between. When they entered a room together, heads turned and jaws dropped.

"So you're back at last," Carissa said. "You could have phoned to tell me you'd be out all night. I know, no strings and all that, but a little consideration please. I do worry."

Carissa bent down to kiss Remy's cheek, only then noticing Remy's reddened, swollen eyes. Carissa was shocked by this display of emotion, which was entirely unlike the Remy she knew. Remy never allowed anything to upset her. She greeted disaster and triumph with the same equanimity, exactly as Kipling recommended.

'Is something the matter?"

"I'm leaving you," Remy said abruptly. "I'll pack up and go tomorrow."

Remy stood up and walked out of the room. She ignored Carissa's outraged questions and expressions of dismay. Remy just didn't have the energy to pretend she cared. She craved silky sheets, soft pillows and the oblivion of sleep.

"If you want a scene," Remy said, "it'll have to be a monologue. I'm going to bed."

House woke up to the sound of early morning traffic.

Wilson was still sleeping. He was breathing more easily than he had the night before. There was no longer that tortured rasp and long pause between breaths. A good long sleep had proved very effective medicine, which was fortunate because as far as House knew rest was the one and only item in the vampire's pharmacopeia.

House turned on the bedside light and sat up. Wilson turned over to face House, grunting slightly with discomfort. He opened his eyes. For a second, the younger vampire looked confused and lost. He reached out, touching House's arm, as if to assure himself that House was really there. House put his arms around Wilson, who let out a yelp.

House released him, but Wilson edged closer, his head on House's chest.

"No, that's all right," Wilson said. "Just hold me gently, like I'm a basket full of eggs."

"Bossy," House complained, but he complied, cradling the other vampire loosely.

"When I woke, I thought I was a human dreaming that I was a vampire, and then I opened up my eyes and saw you next to me, and that just confused me more, because it didn't fit. We never shared a bed when we were human. Then I reached out and you were there, solid and real, which meant everything else was real too. It was just like when you initiated me, the same surprise."

"Good surprise or bad surprise?" House asked.

"I'm not sure." Wilson said wryly. "On the good side, immortality. On the bad side, we'll probably be killed before we get a chance to enjoy it."

"The Professor told me that median life expectancy of a newly initiated vampire is less than two years. We die at the hands of other vampires, usually our creators. He told me _after_ I was initiated, of course. Having the life expectancy of a goldfish is not much of a selling point when you're trying to convince someone to join the army of the undead."

Wilson's expression did not change, but House could feel him tense at the mention of the Professor.

Wilson was wondering when the Professor had decided to pass on this dubious little statistical titbit. Had it been a veiled threat against House, who had been the Professor's apprentice? Had he being trying to convince House to kill Wilson by telling him that vampires kill their unsatisfactory initiates all the time?

Smoothly, Wilson changed the subject.

"Of course, the very best part of my new life is waking up next to you and knowing that very shortly we are going to be having really great sex."

"We're going to have really great sex, are we? Do you think that's a good idea? Aside from your punctured lung..."

"which is almost healed"

"I'm pretty sure you have a broken rib or two."

"Maybe only bruised," Wilson said optimistically. "We'll make love very slowly and carefully, like a couple of porcupines. I know you like it a bit more intense..."

"I like it rough and nasty," House said in a ridiculously lecherous voice.

"Please don't make me laugh," Wilson said. "It will be better than you think. I know lots of tricks, ones I haven't even tried on you yet. None of my ex-wives ever had any complaints."

"That's not quite the ringing endorsement that you think it is," House said, nuzzling the other vampire.

In his human life, Wilson had also been blessed (or perhaps cursed) with an overwhelming need to help other people. It had led him to the field of oncology, where he felt that he could do the most good. His need to help others should have disappeared when he had become a vampire, but it had not. It was too much a part of Wilson. Instead, deprived of any other outlets, his need to serve others had become focussed on pleasing House and making him happy. With the same perseverance and dedication that he had once devoted to memorizing anatomical terms or to mastering his tennis serve, Wilson had studied House's likes and dislikes. Every touch, every lick, every whispered endearment was designed specifically to please him.

Still this was not the kind of sex House wanted. It was like nibbling on a rice cake when what he really hungered for was a thick, juicy steak. House wanted to take Wilson roughly, to use him ruthlessly until Wilson cried out in unself-conscious, purely animal pleasure. He wanted to obliterate everything in Wilson that was human and vulnerable and show him what it is to be a vampire – to be strong, utterly fearless and in absolute control of body and mind.

It was too soon. Wilson was still recovering from his injuries and too easily hurt. House restrained his vampire instincts. Until Wilson healed, he would have to settle for what Wilson could give him. Gentle, almost insubstantial, sensations, one after the other, like a sequence of musical notes, slowly building, taking shape, becoming whole. A warm relaxing glow that suffused his whole body, letting House know that he was loved and more than loved; he was adored, worshipped.

Not what House wanted, not at all, but much too good to resist.

It was early evening, and House should have been playing the piano at a tony supper club. He'd blown off the job because he needed time to think, and a crowded room full of middle-aged couples celebrating their anniversaries wasn't the place to do it.

House considered his situation. Rage, jealousy and a thirst for revenge had clouded his mind, but now that he was rested he needed to put those emotions aside and think logically. Reluctantly, he concluded that his revenge against Lucas would have to be postponed. The red- headed vampire was a more immediate threat. Fox girl knew about him but he knew nothing about her, not even why she was interested in him. That put him at a serious disadvantage.

Thirteen was key. She had the information he needed. House had been trying to track down Thirteen on the Internet. Unfortunately, almost everything he found predated her dismissal from PPTH. He'd tracked down her Facebook page, which hadn't been updated in months, and a brief article about her arrest. He found an address for her father, a retired policeman, and a work phone number for Foreman, her former boyfriend, but he couldn't contact either of them to ask for her address. Thirteen's father would be too suspicious of any stranger asking for information about his daughter, and Foreman would recognize his voice Realizing that he'd reached a dead end, House slammed his laptop shut.

Wilson looked up from the pages of his paperback.

"No luck?"

House didn't answer. "Take your shirt off," he ordered. "I'm going to change your bandage."

Wilson put down his book and unbuttoned his shirt.

Thirteen had struck Wilson twice. The first blow had been superficial. The second had been much more serious. When House had first examined the wound, he had seen an overflowing well of blood as big around as the palm of his hand and deep enough to hold his entire fist.

The first wound had healed completely without leaving a mark, but the second was still in the process of healing over. The new skin was white, hairless, faintly shiny and as soft as a newborn baby's. There was no redness or heat. Continuing his examination, House ran his fingers lightly over Wilson's ribs and torso, stopping to probe more thoroughly when he felt Wilson wince. Wilson almost cried out as he exerted more pressure. House frowned.

"Broken or bruised?" Wilson asked.

"I can't tell," House said. "I'm going to tape the ribs tightly to keep them in place."

House got to work, his skilled hands doing the job automatically.

"Your soft tissue injuries seem to be healing more quickly than your injuries to bone," House commented. "While you're injured, you're vulnerable. Another vampire would spot how stiff and sore you are from a mile away and pounce on you like a lion on a limping baby zebra. You have to get back to full health quickly. I think that if we replicate some of the conditions of the metamorphosis that might speed up the healing process."

"If you mean wrapping me up in a shroud again and putting me in a coffin..."

"Obviously not. I don't have a coffin or a shroud handy**.** I was thinking of wrapping you up in sheets and then putting you in the closet or maybe the bathtub."

"No."

"Darkness, quiet and a tight confined space. I think it should work; it's probably why vampires sleep in coffins."

"This vampire sleeps in a bed, not in a coffin or a closet or a bathtub," Wilson said firmly as he buttoned his shirt.

"It's a medical experiment. Where's your curiosity?" House looked at Wilson, who met his eyes for an instant before looking away.

"I don't like being tied up, and I don't like being alone in the dark," he said stubbornly.

"You'd think you were the only vampire ever to go through the initiation. You don't hear me complaining about how traumatized I am and moaning about how scared I am of the dark. I went through the whole process too, and I didn't have a friend waiting for me on the other side. All I had was the Professor, and you know what he was!"

"Just drop it, House," Wilson said. There was an edge to his voice that House did not like.

"I'm not giving you a choice."

Wilson had had a very unpleasant few days and his patience was at very low ebb. He didn't want to lose his temper or get into an argument. He hated confrontation. Wilson headed for the door.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Out."

Wilson brushed past House without looking at him. When House reached out to stop him, he shrugged him off. House caught the hint of a snarl, a glimpse of fang.

House's reacted instinctively. He launched himself at the other vampire.

Wilson struggled. Even injured, he was much stronger than House's usual human victims and he was equipped with fangs and sharp talon-like fingernails. House put his arms around him to restrain his arms, putting pressure on Wilson's ribs. Wilson cried out, and House used the distraction to his advantage. He dropped Wilson to the floor. House bit into his neck, tasting Wilson's blood.

Wilson called out his name, desperately trying to fend him off, but House was beyond rational thought, taken over by something visceral, primitive and merciless. He forgot that Wilson was his best friend; he forgot that Wilson was injured; none of that mattered to the monster he had become.

Intent on his prey, he was only dimly aware of the sound of pounding on his apartment door.

"I'm calling the police! I'm dialling 9-1-1 right now!"

The words brought House back to his senses. Wilson was on the floor beneath him. His eyes were shut and he was still. For a second, House was afraid that he had killed him. Then, to his immense relief, Wilson opened his eyes.

House got to his feet, staggering slightly. He opened the apartment door. Ceci stood in the hallway. She was barely five feet tall and as small-boned as a bird. House loomed over her.

"Where's Emil? What did you do to him?"

Emil Lime was the name that Wilson had been using in New York. His alias had been chosen by the Professor of Esoteric Medicine; the palindrome was the humourless Professor's idea of a joke.

"I'm fine, Ceci," Wilson said, joining House at the doorway. "We're both fine. We had an argument and things got a little out of hand. It must have sounded much worse than it was. I'm sorry if we disturbed you."

Wilson had turned up the collar of his shirt to hide the bite marks on his neck. He had to hold on to the door to keep upright, but his voice was even and level.

"Everything is all right. There is nothing to worry about," he said, and Ceci, looking into his soft brown eyes, nodded uncertainly.

"Thanks for looking out for us, though," Wilson said. "You're a good neighbour."

He stepped forward to give Ceci a friendly kiss on the cheek and then retreated back into the apartment. House closed the door.

Wilson sat on the floor, back against the wall. There was no more fight left in him. House sat down next to him, and Wilson eyed him warily for a second and then stared straight ahead.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" House asked.

"I'll live," Wilson said. "You can tie me up and leave me alone in the dark; I can't stop you; but please don't. Just don't."

House nodded. He edged closer and put his arm over Wilson's shoulder. Wilson flinched. House pretended he didn't notice.

"Is this about the Professor and what he did to you? I thought you were over that."

"I don't want to talk about him, and you don't want to listen, so let's drop the subject."

"Fine," House said.

He got to his feet.

"I'm going to give the PPTH records another try. Maybe Cuddy hasn't changed her password yet. Even if they don't have a current address for Thirteen, I might find the name of her attorney or something else that could be useful."

Wilson nodded, still refusing to look at House. .

Impulsively House knelt down. He leaned forward, pressing his lips against Wilson's, and the other vampire submitted to his kiss, as cold and unresponsive as a department store dummy. House touched him, held him, offering him comfort. Wilson resisted for as long as he could, but House's victory was inevitable. Wilson gave himself over to House's embrace. He couldn't help it; he belonged to House.

"We're good?" House asked.

"Yes."

Satisfied, House stood up.

Wilson leaned against the wall, shutting his eyes. He rubbed his neck wearily.

Wilson had been content with his life in New York. Away from the influence of the Professor, House was more tolerant of Wilson's imperfections. Their relationship had evolved too. Wilson wasn't just a servant anymore. House had listened to him. Wilson was a partner in their new life – maybe not yet an equal partner, but someone who had to be taken into account. Someone who mattered.

Now, the arrival of another vampire had put an end to that. All it had taken was one teen-aged bloodsucker and House had reverted to type. He was once more making all the decisions, and Wilson was supposed to follow orders. There are no equal partners among vampires – only those who command and those who obey.

Wilson hated vampires.


	24. Pieces of the Puzzle

**Pieces of the Puzzle**

"Eureka!" said House.

Have you located Thirteen?" asked Wilson.

Wilson was sitting beside him on the couch, struggling with the last obstinate corner of the New York Times crossword puzzle. He leaned over his friend's shoulder to look at the screen of his laptop.

Wilson winced, "I didn't need to see that."

The image on the screen was of a nude male sporting a large and incongruous set of antlers. He was reclining in a forest glade. His head lolled on one arm while the other arm draped over his torso, subtly directing the eye towards his over-sized manhood. His half-shut eyelids and coy smirk were probably meant to be alluring, but Wilson's medically trained eye saw a severe case of Bell's palsy. The angle of his shoulders suggested a painful dislocation, and he seemed to have rather more ribs than were strictly necessary. Instead of resting on the grass, he appearing to be hovering above the forest floor, as if reclining on an invisible sofa.

"It's awful," Wilson said. "I don't know whether it's more of an insult to art or anatomy."

"Doesn't he remind you of someone though? Those boyish features, those soft brown eyes... it could be you with a bad wig and a pair of glued-on antlers. It's obviously not drawn from life though. You're adequately endowed, but this guy has to carry his tackle in a wheelbarrow."

Wilson blushed. It was clear that the artist's inspiration had been a scene from "Feral Pleasures". House didn't know about the porn movie that featured his face and another man's body, and Wilson hoped that he would never find out. Eternity wouldn't be long enough to live that down. He tried to grab the mouse from House's hand to banish the offending image from the screen, but House was too quick for him.

"I'm going to bid on it."

"You aren't. I don't want that monstrosity hanging on the wall, where I'd have to look at it every day."

"Like the hotel/motel art that came with this place is so much better.

This masterpiece is being auctioned off to benefit the Rainbow Haven Foundation, which is raising money to open a hospice for the GLBT community. The head of the Rainbow Haven Foundation owns the gallery where the auction is being held. The auction is a sneaky way of unloading a lot of unsellable paintings and getting a nice tax write-off at the same time."

"Since when do you care about tax dodges?"

"I don't. But I am interested in meeting Carissa Rasmussen, the head of the Foundation. She's Thirteen's girlfriend."

House opened up another window which showed Carissa Rasmussen attending a fund-raising gala. Carissa was identified in the caption, but the stunning brunette at her side was not. The unidentified brunette was Thirteen. He opened another window to a photo of Carissa and Thirteen sitting in the front row at a fashion show. Thirteen was bored; the glazed blank expression on her face made her look like one of the runway models.

"The auction is tomorrow night. With any luck, Thirteen will be there. If she isn't, Carissa will know where she is."

* * *

House was filling in for another musician, playing the first set at a jazz club called the Beat Box. Few of House's jobs gave him the opportunity to play real music, and not even the prospect of getting answers from Thirteen was enough to make him give it up. He had arranged for Wilson to meet him at the club after the set, which would end around midnight, and then they would head for the charity auction. The auction was planned as the final event of the evening, after everyone had had a chance to down few glasses of free wine to put them in a generous mood. House and Wilson could skip the party and get there just in time to be fashionably late for the auction.

Wilson was half a block away from the Beat Box when he spotted the young man standing near the entrance of the club. It was raining heavily; the streets where almost deserted and the few pedestrians caught in the downpour were taking shelter under awnings or rushing to get out the rain. This young man made no move to get out the rain; he just stood there, letting it soak him to the skin.

The young man was about fourteen years old, and the light dusting of pimples on his forehead told Wilson that he was human. Still, even without that human imperfection, Wilson could never have mistaken him for one of his own kind. There was something wholly human about his the slope of his shoulders. No vampire could possibly feel quite that sorry for himself.

He was a look-out, Wilson decided. Probably just part of a drug deal or a robbery or some other human enterprise that was none of his concern, but he couldn't be sure. Out of an abundance of caution, he circled the block coming round to the Beat Box from the opposite direction. The employees' entrance was to the rear, through the alley. There was normally a forty Watt light bulb directly above the entrance, providing just enough light to enable the barman to put his key in the lock. Wilson noticed that the light bulb was missing.

Wilson walked past the entrance to the alley without stopping. He'd seen enough to know that someone was waiting in the shadows, ready to ambush whoever came out the door. The Beat Box was a trap, and House was caught inside.

Wilson reached for his cell phone to warn House. Then he remembered that he had lost his phone and hadn't had time to get a replacement yet. Wilson was in a blind spot, where he could not be seen by the lookout or by whoever might be hiding in the alley. Wilson scaled up the side of the building, finding toeholds in the slippery brickwork. His healing ribs protested, but Wilson ignored the pain.

Once he was on the roof, he crouched to peer over the ledge of the roof to the alleyway below. He couldn't be sure, but he thought he saw a shape in the shadows. A woman. Thirteen? Fox girl? Or just his own imagination?

Retreating from the edge, Wilson went to the locked trapdoor that gave access to the roof. He wrenched it off its hinges and descended into a dusty storage area covered with cobwebs. He heard the wail of a trumpet. Three storeys below, the band was playing "When the Saints Come Marching In", the last song in their set. He was just in time.

* * *

"Did they see you?" House asked.

House and Wilson were sitting in a booth at the back of the bar, far from the windows.

"I'm sure the boy didn't," Wilson said. "He was watching everyone coming in or out the front door but he wasn't paying any attention to passersby. I'm not sure about whoever was in the alley; it's possible she spotted me."

"So whoever was in the alley was a woman?"

"I'm not sure there was anybody in the alley. I thought I saw a shape...but I can't be certain."

"So if it is Thirteen or fox girl, there's a chance they know about that exit now, and they'll be watching it."

Wilson nodded.

"Good thing, then, that I know another way out," House said.

He led Wilson back upstairs to the storage area. The storage area was lit only by whatever rays from the streetlights or the stars made it through the dusty, grimy windows, which had not been cleaned in decades. Moving as soundlessly as possible, House began shifting the piles of cardboard boxes, wobbly old barstools, and other forgotten bits and pieces. He uncovered a door.

"This whole block used to be Mencken's department store. When the store went under, the building owners partitioned the lower floors and rented them out to different businesses, but the top floor was pretty much left as it was," House explained quietly.

He put his hand on the door knob, which still turned easily, although the door's rusty hinges squeaked.

"Not even locked," House said. "We'll take a short cut through the attic and come out down the fire escape on the other side of the building."

Wilson nodded, and followed House as he navigated his way through piles of discarded stock and boxes of ancient, yellowing paperwork.

The fire escape was rickety but instead of either fixing it or tearing it down, the building's owners had put up a warning sign: "UNSAFE. DO NOT USE."

"One at a time, I think," House said, opening a window and stepping out on to the metal structure, which swayed alarmingly.

As lightly as a cat, he ran down the fire escape, choosing to jump the final ten feet rather than risk bringing the whole thing down by trying to unjam the rusted ladder. Wilson followed more cautiously, his injuries slowing him down.

House looked around the corner. The teen-aged boy was still there, looking as if he had jumped into a swimming pool fully clothed, but on duty nonetheless. He was talking into a cell phone. House peered around the other corner or the building to see if he could spot anyone in the alley, but it was too dark.

"Watch the alley," he whispered to Wilson.

House went over to the cars parked by the side of the road. He advanced down the line of vehicles, hitting each one hard with the palm of his hand as he passed, and setting off their alarms.

Wilson saw a movement in the shadows, as whoever was waiting there turned in response to the noise. He caught a glimpse of red before the figure retreated back the shadows.

"Fox girl," he said, nodding at House.

* * *

House hailed a cab and soon the two vampires were on their way to Carissa's gallery. The driver took a look at his passengers, and put down a layer of newspapers to keep the car's upholstery dry. The newspapers crackled every time his passengers moved.

Wilson leaned back in the seat and pulled a plastic bag from the pocket or his coat.

"I brought you this to wear," he said, pulling out one of his own ties. "The auction is semi-formal."

"This is a seriously ugly tie. And it clashes with my shirt," House complained.

"You're pretending to be someone who would buy works of art that anyone with an ounce of taste would want to shoot into outer space. You have to look the part. I got you something else too. This is to make you look rich and get us in the door."

Wilson pulled out a blue velvet jeweller's box from the bag and held it out to House. House took the box from his hand.

"I was walking by the jewellery store window, and I couldn't resist it."

"How much of our rent money do you blow on this?"

"None. I told the jeweller who much I liked it, and he gave it to me. It's a present, from him to me and from me to you."

"You looked deep into his eyes and seduced him with your vampiric charms."

"No actual seduction was involved. Open it."

House looked at Wilson warily.

"This isn't a ring, is it?" House asked.

"Of course, it's not a ring," Wilson said. "Relax. I know that you're one of nature's eternal bachelors. If Stacy couldn't tame you, I haven't got a chance."

House opened up the box and looked at the contents. Inside was a diamond tie-clip. The diamond, only slightly smaller than a dime, was a brilliant, icy blue.

"You hardly ever wear a tie so it's not very practical, but the diamond is flawless and it matches the colour of your eyes exactly. I looked at the diamond in the window, and I thought House can't see his own eyes in the mirror anymore, and that just seemed so sad.

I must have been a bit drunk at the time," Wilson confessed.

"More than a bit from the sound of it."

House held the tie clip in his hand. The word 'flawless' resonated deeply with his vampire nature. We're a flock of glorified magpies, he thought; we can't resist something shiny.

House pinned it to his tie, and Wilson smiled. He reached out to adjust the tie slightly. House bit him on the earlobe affectionately. He pierced the lobe cleanly and almost painlessly, marking Wilson as his.

"That's for flirting with the jeweller," he said.

The newspaper rustled.

"No funny business in my cab!"

* * *

The auction had already started by the time they arrived. Folding chairs had been set up in rows, filling the gallery space. There was a murmur of comment as House and Wilson took seats at the back of the room.

"That's him," Wilson heard someone say. "That's the guy with the horns!"

Carissa herself was running the auction. She stood at a lectern in the front of the room, holding the auctioneer's traditional hammer. She was wearing a white beaded gown with a plunging neckline and her hair was arranged on top of her head in a complicated knot. She looked sexy and regal and frightening, like Hans Christian Andersen's Snow Queen brought to life. Carissa glared at her unruly audience, her commanding gaze bringing them back to order and silence instantly.

Wilson scanned the room. Thirteen wasn't there. Secretly, he felt relieved. The last time they had met, she had tried to blackmail him, and he'd tried to kill her. He wasn't looking forward to seeing her again. The situation was just too socially awkward.

"The one I'm going to bid on is up next," House said.

"You aren't," Wilson said, almost pleading, as Carissa's assistant brought the next item to the front of the room.

"Item 15, 'Midsummer Nocturne' by Samuel Evans Gracie," Carissa said. "The artist is best known for his abstracts and for his bold use of colour. This is a rare and powerful foray into the figurative. Who would like to start the bidding?"

House waited until the bidding reached one hundred and fifty dollars before he raised his hand.

"We have one fifty; do I hear one sixty...one fifty five. Thank you, man with a canary coloured tie...I have one fifty five..."

"One sixty," said House loudly.

"No," Wilson protested, slumping down in his seat.

"One seventy," said a voice from the other side of the room.

"We have a new bidder. The man wearing sunglasses indoors. We have one seventy... anyone at one seventy five?"

"One seventy five," said canary tie.

"Two hundred" said House, "on the condition that the subject of the painting has to sign it for me!"

"Two twenty, same condition," said sunglasses.

House dropped out of the bidding when it reached two fifty, but canary tie and sunglasses were both committed to the battle. 'Midsummer Nocturne' was knocked down to canary tie at five hundred and ninety five dollars, which was, Wilson considered, about five hundred and ninety dollars more than it was worth.

The rest of the auction proceeded uneventfully. With Carissa reminding the bidders sternly that the proceeds were going to charity, every work of art eventually found an owner.

After the auction, while canary tie cornered Wilson, House went to speak with Carissa.

"I wanted to meet you," House said, "I'm very interested in the charity you founded. My friend Remy told me all about it, and I think it's a worthy cause. I'm surprised she's not here for your big fund-raiser."

"She was supposed to be here," Carissa said, "but maybe Remy doesn't always keep her word."

"I hope she's not sick. I'm sure she would have come if she could have. Your foundation must be very important to her."

"If Rainbow Haven meant anything to her," Carissa said angrily, "she'd be here now."

"Oops. Have I touched on something personal here? Are you and Remy close?"

"We used to be. Until she met someone named Mia. Suddenly, Mia is going to change her life forever and they are going to live happily ever after.

I'm not bitter about her leaving me – I'm not that kind of person – but she disappointed everyone else. The auction was supposed to be her project, but I end up doing all the work. "

"It sounds like this Mia is a bad influence. Maybe I should get in touch with Remy and talk to her. Do you know how I could get a hold of her?"

"She's with Mia, wherever she is. Don't ask me for any details. I've never met the bitch. I don't even know her last name."

"I can see how 'not bitter' you are. Got to go," House said. "Looks like my date for the evening needs to be rescued."

Carissa waved her hand regally, dismissing him from her presence, as she turned to another customer.

* * *

The man with the canary tie had insisted that Wilson sign the canvas. Wilson had signed it using his right hand, so his handwriting would not be recognizable. He had signed it "Gregory House". The man with the canary tie squinted at the signature, trying to make out the scrawl.

"I'm having some friends over for drinks this Saturday, and I'd love for you to come ...um, Jeremy."

"The picture's yours, but the real thing is mine," House said. "Come on, Jeremy, we're going home."

The rain had stopped. The night sky was clear and a cool and pleasant breeze idly sent bits of waste paper scurrying down the street. The two vampires decided to walk home rather than take a taxi.

Briefly, House outlined his conversation with Carissa.

"A total bust," he summarized.

"Maybe not," Wilson said. "The name Mia sounds familiar.

When we were in Las Vegas, I used to dip into the Professor's library when you and he were busy doing... whatever you were doing."

"Learning the tricks of the trade... and not those kinds of tricks, and not that trade."

"Very funny," Wilson said. "Anyway, most of his books were dreadful Victorian triple deckers. I only managed to get all the way through one of them. It was about virtuous Lady Clara hopelessly pining after dashing Lord Roderick, who only had eyes for the scheming Italian contessa. Odd reading matter for someone like the Professor."

"I can imagine him reading 'One Thousand Ways to Torture Your Peasants'," House said, "but not 'Lord Roderick's Dilemma'."

"There was a name written on the inside cover of the book," Wilson said. "Mia Winter. The name could be a coincidence, of course."

"Or Thirteen's Mia could be someone from the Professor's past. A female vampire who likes to read silly romance novels. Your friend the fox girl."

"She's coming after us to avenge his death," Wilson said. "We're being hunted."

"She's after me, not us. If she wanted you, you'd be dead already. She could have finished off what Thirteen started.

I'm going to have to find her and kill her before she kills me."


	25. Old Friends

**Old Friends**

Lisa Cuddy leafed through Jeffrey Silverman's lab results again, hoping that this time she might see some pattern that she had missed. She'd known Jeffrey and his family for years and had watched him grow from a mischievous toddler to a bright, well-adjusted young man. He was a good boy and he deserved every chance to fulfill his potential. The world needed intelligent, kind-hearted men.

Lisa sighed, wondering whether what she was going to do was a mistake. Then she picked up her phone and dialled a New York number.

"Hello. This is Cuddy. I haven't heard from you for a while."

"I didn't want to take the chance of getting Encyclopedia Brown on the phone again."

"So you're okay?"

"Basically. Okay with an asterisk and footnotes."

"I saw a story in the newspaper about a truck hijacking at a highway rest stop. The driver was found dead. I was wondering, was he...Did Wilson...Should I even finish that question?"

"Probably not," House said. " If you're calling me because you want me to come and pick up my SUV, strictly speaking it isn't my SUV. It belongs to Desert Autoland. "

"I got rid of it. I abandoned it in a mall parking lot at three in the morning. I was scared stiff that I'd get pulled over by the police and have to explain what I was doing in a stolen vehicle covered in blood."

"I'm on a cellphone. It's probably best not to use the phrase 'stolen vehicle covered in blood' when talking over a cellphone.

If it's not about the SUV, then why are you calling me at eleven a.m.? You do realize that I'm nocturnal? Please tell me you've kicked Lucas out on his ear, and you're wondering if my offer still stands."

"Lucas and I are still together and very happy.

I'm calling because I need your diagnostic skills. The son of one of the hospital's major benefactors collapsed two days ago at his bar mitzvah party. He's been tested for everything under the sun, and the results have been inconclusive. I thought you could Iook over the lab results and give me your opinion."

"_Give_ you my opinion."

"I'll pay you of course."

"Fine. Standard consultant's fee plus twenty percent."

"That's it? No argument, no negotiation?"

"One condition: you get your live-in babysitter to do a little investigative work for me. Find Thirteen."

"If this is about revenge for what happened to Wilson..."

"It isn't. Thirteen hasn't been seen for a week. She had a court appearance scheduled two days ago that she didn't attend. Her lawyer couldn't contact her. Her family and friends don't know where she is. The last person she was seen with was Mia Winter a.k.a. fox girl. Mia is one of us. "

"A vampire."

"Again, I'm on a cellphone. One of Rupert Murdoch's minions could be listening in right now. The boy detective finds Thirteen, hopefully still alive or at least undead; Thirteen leads me to Mia. Do we have a deal?"

"If Lucas finds Thirteen for you, you won't ... harm her?"

"I agree to that condition. So we have a deal?"

"We do. I'll e-mail you the case notes and lab results. Good bye, House."

"Bye, Lisa. Oh, and my other offer is still on the table."

House put the phone down. He was looking forward to the prospect of a medical mystery to solve.

House received Cuddy's e-mail twenty minutes later. He read the notes and lab work. He was disappointed. Not, after all, a particularly challenging puzzle. Even Cuddy should have been able to put the pieces together. He suspected that her interest in the hospital's financial well-being had blinded her to the obvious.

Jeffrey was being poisoned by a member of his own family.

Slowly over a period of weeks or even months, the boy had been ingesting thallium, a highly-regulated element used in the manufacture of high-index optics and electronics. The most likely poisoner was Dr. Isaac Silverman, the patriarch of the family and C.E.O. of Celebrant Optics. Jeffrey's mother and older brothers worked at Celebrant Optics as well, but Isaac Silverman was House's prime suspect. A simple comparison of blood types showed that Jeffrey was not his biological son. House theorized that the noted philanthropist had decided that he couldn't raise his wife's bastard as his own and had decided to kill him.

The boy would recover, but at the cost of thousands of dollars in corporate donations. Cuddy wasn't going to be happy.

* * *

That evening, House went hunting. Normally, he hunted alone, but these were not normal times. House was being stalked by another vampire. Wilson had asked to come along to act as watch while House fed, and House had agreed.

House's victim stared upwards, her brown eyes gazing dully into the night sky. She had been young and pretty, with dark curly hair that make House think of Cuddy. Biting into the soft flesh of his victim's neck, he had remembered the first and only time that he had made love to Cuddy decades ago: the fumbling awkwardness of it, the innocence.

It was his custom to learn the names of those he'd killed but he had already banished her name from his memory. Some things are better forgotten.

Wilson found him there, kneeling over her body.

He touched House's shoulder.

"House," Wilson said gently," I don't want to rush you, but it's going to be dawn soon."

House looked up.

"Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," House said gruffly, shaking off Wilson's hand.

House stood up, and moved toward Wilson. Wilson's body was cold and angular – so different from his memory of Cuddy's warm smooth skin and pliable body. He rubbed his stubbled cheek against Wilson's clean-shaven one and nipped him on the neck. He could feel Wilson's tiny shiver of pleasure.

"Not here," Wilson protested.

"What's the matter with here?" House said. "This is a perfectly good alley."

His sharp fangs grazed Wilson's vulnerable neck, while one of his hands burrowed under the waistband of his pants. Wilson appeared to be considering the matter, because he left House's hand rest there for at least three or four seconds before squirming away.

House leaned in, sharp teeth and soft lips brushing against Wilson's skin. His long, sensitive fingernails skated delicately over his face.

"If you want me to stop, tell me."

Wilson tried to spit out the word that would make House let him go. He couldn't say it.

House put his arms around Wilson, holding him tight. He could feel his tension, his resistance. Wilson looked down, avoiding his eyes. House's face was very close to Wilson's, so that the younger vampire thought (hoped) that House was going to kiss him, a real kiss, on the lips.

Instead, House whispered into his ear.

"Do you want me to stop?"

Miserably, Wilson shook his head.

House felt Wilson's tense muscles relax. A tricky moment. Wilson could be pretending, just waiting to launch himself at House, spitting and cursing. He'd done it before.

That moment passed, and House loosened his hold slightly. He swayed, rocking Wilson in his arms. When House released him, Wilson leaned back against the wall, eyes half shut. House undressed and Wilson began to strip too, hands moving automatically, as if his body were not at all connected to his mind. Wilson stroked himself, seeking his own comfort, but House batted the vampire's hands away in annoyance. No solitary pleasures allowed. Subdued, Wilson put up no resistance as House grabbed his wrists and turned him around to face the brick wall of the alley.

When House let go, Wilson obediently stayed in place, earning him a kiss on the cheek. House played with Wilson's nipples. His sharp fingernails made slow lazy circles down his chest. He ran his hand ran up his lover's thigh, easing his legs apart, spreading his buttocks. His hands caressed, teased, explored. He felt Wilson begin to open to his touch.

Wilson groaned when House entered him, and House bit down deep into the meat of the younger vampire's shoulder. With each deep, steady thrust, he clamped down harder, and the taste of Wilson's blood, rich and sweet, filled his mouth, overpowering the lingering taste of House's last victim. House forgot about her, forgot about Cuddy and Lucas and the vampire who was stalking him, forgot about everything but his own pleasure. When he came, House's mind was clear and empty.

What House felt with Wilson was not something that he ever experienced with Cuddy or with any other human lover. Two bodies responding to each other without words or thought, in perfect unison. There was no fear of saying or doing the wrong thing, no human self-consciousness to get in the way.

Until afterwards.

Wilson had retreated into the shadows to get dressed – a gesture towards modesty that seemed ludicrous to House under the circumstances. He neatly sidestepped House to kneel beside his victim, performing his own ritual for the dead. He straightened her clothing and ran his fingers through her hair, untangling her wayward curls. He closed her eyes.

House looked down. She really didn't look much like Cuddy at all. Lots of people had curly, dark brown hair.

"Her name was Angela. She was twenty-five years old. She was a blood donor and a member of the New York Public Library."

"We shouldn't have had sex with her there," Wilson muttered. "It wasn't respectful."

"I didn't hear you objecting at the time," House said.

"I _can't_ say no to you," Wilson said. "You said it yourself: I can't deny you anything."

"Face it, Wilson, you didn't tell me to stop because you didn't want me to. You're a vampire, and you like vampire sex. Sex in dark, garbage-strewn alleys, deserted cemeteries, and creepy little roadside motels straight out of _Psycho_. Just enough biting scratching and clawing to convince yourself that I'm being nasty and unreasonable but not enough to really hurt."

"You know me better than I know myself," Wilson said sarcastically.

He got to his feet and headed towards home, not waiting for House.

"You pretend you're all kittens and sunshine and you're not. Well, maybe kittens, but definitely not sunshine."

The word sunshine made a warning bell chime in Wilson's mind. He glanced at his watch and broke into a run.

"Damn it, House," he called back over his shoulder. "Get a move on. The sun comes up in twenty minutes."

* * *

Only half a mile away, Remy stood at her bedroom window, watching the sunrise. The city was stirring, waking up, but the three-storey brownstone where she was staying was quiet. Somewhere, on the other side of a locked door, Mia was sleeping. Would she be sealed up in a coffin or hanging from the ceiling like a bat?

Remy was becoming slightly disillusioned with Mia. She'd given Mia good information, but the vampire had screwed up and put House on his guard. Remy was playing the price for Mia's mistake. Mia had refused to give Remy the immortality she had been promised until House was in her hands.

Remy's bedroom was luxurious**.** Mia had thoughtfully provided her with ways to amuse herself – widescreen TV, DVD player, video game console, even a bookcase full of paperback thrillers and romances. No telephone or computer though; she was cut off from the rest of the world. Remy's room was just a particularly well-appointed jail cell. She was locked in, supposedly for her own protection. Really, it was because Mia didn't trust her.

She was only let out for a few hours a night, and always with Mia in attendance. They'd watch _E.T_. or _The Sound of Music_, Mia's favourite movies, or take a walk around the block. Once Mia had taken her to a party and Remy had hoped for a bit of adult conversation and some Gothic decadence. (Mia was a vampire, after all.) Instead it had been pizza and birthday cake and _Twilight _on DVD afterwards. Mom and dad had watched her like hawks, since they couldn't think of any good or wholesome reason why a woman in her twenties would want to attend their daughter's Sweet Sixteen party, even if she was somebody's older sister.

She'd managed to snag a treasure though – a plastic comb with a long thin handle that she had lifted from the father's back pocket. Carefully, she inserted the handle into the mechanism of the lock on her door. She hadn't picked a lock for ages, not since her wild teenage years, but the gift hadn't deserted her. She heard a click as the lock turned.

Remy wasn't planning to run away. Mia was still her best chance for curing her illness. She just wanted to experience freedom and all the little things about being human that she was going to have to give up. She wanted to feel the warmth of the sun on her skin, enjoy a good meal, and talk to her father and tell him that she loved him.

She opened the door and stepped into the hall, leaving the door open behind her to provide enough light to see. Halfway to the stairs, she heard a sound behind her. She froze, and then almost ran the rest of the way to the stairs.

It was ridiculous to feel so frightened, but walking down the darkened hallway had reminded her of every horror movie she had ever seen. She paused at the top of the stairs, reminding herself that Mia might be a monster, but she was a reasonable, intelligent one. If Remy were caught outside her room, the consequences would likely be no more severe than a few nights of solitary confinement in her bedroom_._

Feeling much more confident, Remy walked down the stairs and through the living room to the front door. She paused there. There was a keypad alarm system next to the door. An alarm would go off if she opened the door or opened any of the windows. Unfortunately, Remy's adolescent rebellious stage hadn't included lessons in how to disarm alarm systems.

"Damn," she swore under her breath. There went her plans for a stroll in Central Park followed by a leisurely lunch at a good restaurant.

She could still talk to her father though. All she needed was a telephone. There had to be at least three cellphones in the house – Mia's, Wilson's, and her own. Remy began to search for them, quickly going through all the ground floor rooms. That left the bedrooms upstairs and the lower floor. Remy wasn't keen on searching the bedrooms since Mia might be sleeping behind any one of those doors. She continued her search in the rec room downstairs.

The rec room was very dark since the windows, grilled to deter thieves, faced a neighbour's brick wall. Remy felt nervous for a second, but that feeling disappeared as soon as she turned on a light. Confident that Mia was two floors away, Remy wasn't quite as careful to be quiet. She kneeled down to open a drawer in Mia's entertainment centre. It was filled with DVDS, and she paused for a moment to look at the titles. Mia probably wouldn't notice if she borrowed a couple to play on her own DVD player upstairs.

Remy thought she heard a sound. Still holding her selections in her hand, she stood up quickly and glanced around.

"Mia," she said quietly.

The brownstone was still, the only sounds the background noise of cars and birdsong. Nerves. She replaced _28 Days Later_ and _Let the Right One In_ and pulled out the next drawer.

From the doorway, the Professor watched her. He'd been aware of her for days – her scent, the sound of her voice, the creaking of the floorboards as she moved restlessly about her room. Mia had said that she was forbidden, not to be touched.

Mia had been his apprentice. It was not her place to give him orders.

Remy stood up and looked around the room. She had opened every drawer, felt beneath sofa cushions, and peered over and under pieces of furniture. She was losing enthusiasm for the search. It was becoming clear that Mia most likely kept all three cellphones in her own room. She probably had them tucked neatly into the silk lining of her coffin. She grabbed a book from Mia's bookshelf as a trophy and turned to go upstairs to her room.

Remy was facing a nightmare come to life: a thing with talons, and dark eyes that gleamed with malevolent glee. The creature's skin was deathly pale and traced with fine blue veins. Its grotesque head was distorted and misshapen. It stood in the doorway, blocking her way forward. There was no other way out. The windows were narrow and high. She wouldn't have time to open the grille and squeeze through before the creature would be upon her.

"Go away," Remy commanded firmly. Her father, a policeman, had taught her how to deal with wild animals and vicious dogs. You had to appear strong and fearless. She took her eye of the thing for only a second, to look around for a possible weapon. When she looked back, the creature had advanced into the room.

Remy had taken self-defence courses; she took a defensive pose.

This thing, whatever it is, she told herself, isn't any bigger than I am, and it's frail and old. I'm stronger and faster.

The Professor darted forward and slashed her with his fingernails, a shallow cut from wrist to elbow. He licked the blood from his nails. Then he cut her again, this time across the face. Remy cried out in pain and surprise.

The Professor put his hand over her mouth to muffle her. Remy bit down hard, but the vampire hardly noticed. Remy fought back, using every move she had, but nothing she did seemed to hurt the creature or even slow it down. It smiled at her, exposing a row of long, yellow teeth, and Remy went still with shock, suddenly realizing what she should have known all along - this creature was a vampire. This was what she wanted to become.

Then the Professor bit her, and Remy's world went dark.


	26. An Anaerobic Process

Mia opened her eyes at the sound of Remy's surprised cry. The vampire sat up in bed, instantly alert. She heard the ever-present noise of traffic, birdsong, the voices of passers-by on the street below. Then there was a muffled thump. She pulled back the covers, jumped out of bed, and ran downstairs, following the sound.

Mia stopped short at the doorway to the basement. The Professor looked up. He was sitting on the floor, holding Remy in his arms. He had been feeding.

Mia was wearing pyjamas adorned with a pattern of tiny pink hearts; her feet were bare; and her thick red hair stood on end like the spines of a hedgehog. She would have looked comical if it hadn't been for the expression of pure vampiric rage that distorted her features.

"I told you not to hurt her! She was a guest in my home!" she hissed furiously.

The Professor moved Remy's head from his lap to the floor. Slowly, he stood up to face his former apprentice. He smiled at her, his teeth stained pink with Thirteen's blood.

Mia pushed him aside and knelt down by Remy to examine her. She was still alive. Her wounds were relatively minor. There were a couple of ugly gashes and a bite mark on her neck, but the Professor hadn't had a chance to drain her yet. Remy opened her eyes.

Mia smiled at her reassuringly and took her hand.

She took her eyes off Remy for a moment to look at the Professor. He stared back at her, his face blank and unreadable. . That faint glimmer of intelligence, the light in his eyes which had convinced Mia to spare his life, had disappeared. Had he attacked her guest out of malice, to punish his former pupil for being strong and healthy and free, while he had to lurk in the shadows, too ugly and deformed to show his face? Or had he simply acted on instinct, mindlessly? Looking into those lifeless eyes, it was impossible to tell.

Remy's wounds were not in themselves life-threatening, but a vampire's bite is toxic to humans. Mia saw that her wounds were defensive. She had been fighting the Professor. Her body would have been flooded with adrenaline, speeding up her heart rate and respiration, increasing both the absorption and the effect of the vampire's venom. Mia knew that Remy had only a short time to live. The only possible cure was to initiate her as a vampire.

Still Mia hesitated. She liked Thirteen, but she did not think that she had earned the privilege of becoming a vampire. The young doctor's loyalty to Mia was questionable, and she hadn't yet delivered House into her hands.

Letting Thirteen die, though, would be a victory for the Professor. Mia couldn't allow the other vampire to triumph over her; he had to learn that they were no longer master and apprentice. They were equals now, and he was living in her home, under her rules.

"Stay calm," Mia said, looking down at Remy. "We can fix this. I was going to make you a vampire anyway, and this...this just speeds things up a bit.

I'm going to finish what the Professor started. It will hurt a little, but if you trust me, if you stay calm, this can still work. Do you trust me?"

Remy nodded.

Mia had never initiated another vampire, and she had been very ill when she had undergone her own initiation. Her memories of the process were vague. She remembered the Professor chanting, intoning the same phrases, over and over again – Latin words she recognized from the schoolroom mixed with other more exotic tongues. The constant repetition of syllables had put her into a drowsy, trance-like state.

All the usual occult apparatus had been present – dark robes, dripping candles, dusty books, an old knife which he had used to trace symbols in the air – and everything that the Professor did seemed weighted with tradition and solemnity. Most of the ritual was flummery, of course, as the Professor later admitted to her, but it had served its purpose. It made her feel part of something ancient, a ceremony that had been done hundreds or thousands of time before, going back into the mists of history. The ritual had calmed her and made her feel safe.

How much of that ceremony had been necessary, and how much had been window-dressing and spectacle? Mia wasn't sure. She looked up at the Professor, wishing for a moment that she was his pupil again, so that he could tell her what to do.

There was no chance of that; the Professor hadn't said a word since he had called out her name, just as she was about to stab him.

Thirteen was a pragmatic, educated woman in her twenties and she wouldn't react the same way as an impressionable fifteen year old from a country village. Ceremony had little place in Thirteen's life, and it was unlikely that she'd take any comfort in it. In any case, Mia couldn't remember the words to the chant and didn't have any crystal balls or ceremonial swords handy.

What she did know for certain was that the state of mind of the initiate was all important. Tranquility, calmness, and trust were essential so that the initiate could enter the metamorphic state –a deep death-like trance in which the body's normal processes, such as respiration, were temporarily suspended.

Mia smiled at Remy, trying to project a confidence she did not feel. Weakly, Remy smiled back. Mia squeezed her hand.

"Stay awake," she ordered. "Keep your eyes open and don't fall asleep."

Then she put Remy's head on her lap, kneeled over her, and bit.

Remy's blood was sweet and salty. It filled her mouth, almost choking her. Mia wasn't hungry; she'd fed only the day before, but she forced it down anyway. Spitting out the blood would be an insult to the initiate and would tarnish the occasion.

Mia leaned back on her heels. Remy's eyes were still open, and they followed her when she moved. That was a good sign.

"Now, I'm going to bind you up tightly, like a baby in swaddling clothes, so you won't move."

She looked up at the Professor, who had not moved, and was still staring down at her.

"Get me something to bind her in. Sheets, a tablecloth, curtains. Hurry!"

The Professor stared at her for a long moment and then moved towards the door. She could hear his footsteps, deliberate and maddeningly slow, as he plodded down the hallway and up the stairs.

"You're going to be fine," Mia said, stroking Remy's long brunette hair.

Though she did her best to hide her emotions from Remy, Mia was seething with anger. She had rescued the Professor and done her best to rehabilitate him and care for him, and he had rewarded her with ingratitude and insolence.

* * *

"You have a lot of nerve coming here," Raymond Hadley said, "I told you on the phone that I have nothing to say to you."

Raymond Hadley had just come home from work, and was still wearing his police sergeant's uniform. He stood blocking the doorway to his modest suburban bungalow. Hadley was an imposing man with dark brown hair only just starting to turn grey. His only obvious resemblance to his daughter were his eyes which, like Thirteen's, changed colour with the weather and with his mood. At the moment, his eyes were the same slate grey as the rain clouds that were gathering overhead.

"I'm not here to talk about past grievances. Thirteen is missing. None of her friends know where she is. All I want to do is find her and make sure she's all right."

"Thirteen! My daughter's name is Remy. You could at least show her the courtesy of referring to her by name."

"Remy...Dr. Hadley has been gone for at least a week. She hasn't talked to her lawyer and she didn't show up at her group therapy session. Carissa Rasmussen said she left her for someone named Mia Winter, but I haven't been able to contact anyone who has met Mia or talked to her. I haven't been able to track Mia down."

"You can't track down someone who doesn't exist."

"You think Carissa lied," Lucas said.

"That or Remy just invented this Mia character as an excuse to get far away from Carissa. I told Remy that Carissa was Euro trash. Maybe this time she finally listened to me."

Lucas nodded, considering the possibility.

"The police think Dr. Hadley's in hiding and she'll show up when she runs out of money. Does that sound like Remy to you? From what I've heard of her, she doesn't sound like the kind of person who runs away from her problems."

Hadley took a step forward. He put his hand on Lucas's shoulder and pushed him backwards, towards the porch steps. Lucas stumbled but regained his balance.

"I think it's time for you to leave."

"Sgt. Hadley, do you know where your daughter is?"

"I do not, but if I did, I sure as hell wouldn't tell you."

* * *

While he prepared spaghetti and meatballs for dinner, Lucas told Cuddy about his unproductive day. Cuddy dipped a spoon into the simmering spaghetti sauce. She tasted the sauce and added a pinch more oregano.

"Another dead end," she said.

"Looks that way," Lucas agreed. "Maybe Hadley's right. There is no Mia. Thirteen made her up. That would explain why I haven't found a trace of her. No motor vehicle license, no birth certificate, no records of any kind."

"She's very young; she probably just doesn't have a driver's license yet. "

"I'm starting to think that Mia's just a distraction. House is the person I should be focussing on. Three doctors missing from the same hospital; it can't be a coincidence. And House's voice on the phone ..."

"That can't have been him. It was the middle of the night and you were half asleep. You made an honest mistake."

Cuddy stirred a pot of boiling water, pulled out a strand of spaghetti and bit into it, testing it for doneness.

She sighed, "I think the police were right all along. House is dead. Wilson killed him and then committed suicide."

"You said their theory didn't make sense. You told me that Wilson would never hurt House."

"Wilson was a good friend of mine. He was a compassionate and caring doctor, but he was troubled. He had a dark side. All those failed relationships...his drinking...his struggle with clinical depression...

After Amber died, House was all Wilson had. He could see that House and I were becoming closer, and he was being pushed to the margins."

Cuddy turned towards Lucas. Her voice raspy with emotion, she said, "I still don't want to believe it. Wilson was pathologically jealous, and I was too naive to see it."

* * *

Wilson hadn't noticed that Ceci was in the elevator until it was too late. He nodded at her and she smiled back at him, but her smile faded quickly as House stepped on to the elevator after him. She backed away, leaning against the far wall of the elevator, her basket of dirty laundry held in front of her. Their journey continued in awkward silence.

The door to the elevator opened and House stepped out. Wilson followed. He held the door open for a moment and turned towards Ceci.

"Maybe I could drop by your apartment a bit later," he said. "There's a new episode of _Iron Chef America_ on tonight."

"I'm going to be busy."

"Another time then."

"I guess."

Wilson removed his hand and the door shut beside him. House was already outside the apartment building, looking back at him impatiently through the glass door.

"What was that about?" House asked, as Wilson fell into step beside him.

"I miss having friends."

"Aside from me, what friends did you ever have?"

Wilson ignored him, continuing his own train of thought.

"One of the things I used to like about Ceci is that she never asked questions. She wasn't the least bit curious about who I was or what I did. As far as she was concerned, I was the gay neighbour in her own personal romantic comedy. My only function was to listen to her talk about her love life and give her advice."

"That doesn't sound like much fun to me."

"It was so relaxing, not having to think up lies. Being with her reminded me of lunchtime at PPTH. Me, nodding at appropriate intervals while you droned on about Cuddy."

"I never droned. I have a pleasant speaking voice."

"Now, every time I see her, she asks if I'm all right and gives me a significant look. Sometimes she gives my arm a gentle, sympathetic squeeze."

"She touched you!"

"Damn it, House, now's not the time to pretend to be jealous! I don't want Ceci thinking I'm some pathetic battered boyfriend who's too cowed to leave a bad relationship. I want things to be normal between us, so I don't have to hide when I see her in the hallway. "

"Ceci being weird is not my fault. She was born that way."

"Yes, it is your fault. You tried to kill me, and she knows about it. She thinks you're abusive."

"I only tried to kill you once, and you've tried to kill me at least three times. I had to hold you off while you tried to rip out my throat."

"I like that you're stronger than I am. It means that I don't have to worry that I'm going to kill you when the evil vampire in me takes over," Wilson said.

"Your vampire instincts aren't evil," House said with elaborate patience.

Wilson believed that vampires were evil by nature. His simple rule was vampires bad, humans good. All of House's attempts to convince him otherwise had failed. His best friend was impervious to reason and logic.

House paused and Wilson came to a stop beside him. House stood still, all his senses alert. The evening breeze carried the scent of vehicle exhaust, greasy hamburgers, and overflowing garbage bins. He heard the noise of traffic and someone's radio, the words in a language he didn't recognize.

"No sign of Fox Girl, tonight," House said. "Let's forget about her, steal a couple of motorcycles and go for a ride. Just pick a direction and go, straight on till we hit daylight."

"Sounds good to me."

* * *

Too weak to protest, Remy had allowed Mia to wrap her up in an old sheet.

"I don't have a coffin ready for you," Mia said, "so we'll have to improvise. There's a blanket chest upstairs in my room. You're tall but you're skinny. I think you'll fit."

"I'll suffocate," Remy said. It was difficult to talk. She had to force the words out.

"You won't. The change will start to happen and you won't need oxygen. It's an...anaerobic process," Mia said, carefully pronouncing the last phrase which she remembered from one of the Professor's many lectures.

Once Mia got her upstairs, it was obvious that Remy wasn't going to fit with her arms and legs straight out, and the sheet was wrapped too tight to allow her to bend. Mia cursed under her breath and began to unwrap her.

"I'll just have to do this again. You'll roll up into a nice tight ball, and I'll wrap you up, and everything will be fine."

"No, no," Remy protested.

"What do you mean, no?"

Mia looked down at her, frowning.

"I'm not sure...this is too fast."

"This is what you want, Thirteen," Mia said. "To be strong and free forever. No pain, no weakness, no fear."

Mia trussed Remy up with the sheet, and carefully placed her guest in the blanket chest.

"Remember - this is very important – you have to stay awake. Don't close your eyes! I'm going to shut the lid and when I open it again, you'll be a vampire, just as you were always meant to be. Everything is going to be fine."

The lid slammed shut and Remy was alone in the dark. She wanted to scream and beat her fists against the wood, but she didn't have the strength. She was very tired.

"Let me out," she said weakly.

"You're going to be fine," she heard Mia repeat. Her voice sounded muffled and indistinct.

Mia sat on the floor next to the blanket chest. There was nothing for her to do now but wait.


	27. Carefree Highway

House rode his motorcycle down an unfamiliar two-lane highway. Evergreens lined both sides of the road. Aside from Wilson, about fifty yards behind him, there was no one else on the road. He was heading vaguely southwest but with no particular destination in mind.

The lightning arrived without warning. For a fraction of a second, the whole sky lit up. For that instant, it was noon on a bright summer day; every tree branch, every rock at the side of the road briefly floodlit.

House smiled in delight. For the past months, sunlight had been something to be feared. Living in darkness and shadows was part of the price he'd paid, willingly, to end his chronic pain. He hadn't realized how much he missed the light until that moment.

Then came the thunder, a deep full-throated rumble that made the ground shake, and the dark clouds opened to release their burden. Soon House was riding his motorcycle through a sheet of rain so thick he could barely see or breathe. Unable to handle so much water so quickly, the highway quickly became a stream.

Lightning struck again. The boom that followed was almost instantaneous. House had to get off the road, but the shoulders of the road were narrow and so muddy that if he stopped there, his motorcycle would be stuck.

He slowed down, letting Wilson catch up to him. House spotted a dirt and gravel road leading off the highway. The road still appeared passable and might lead to some sort of shelter. He took the turn-off, Wilson following him.

The road was blocked by a chain link fence. House got off his motorcycle and walked up to the gate. There was a sturdy Yale lock. He picked up a rock and used it as a hammer. aiming at the lock's mechanism. The lock sprang open, and House returned to walk his motorcycle into the enclosure. He was in some sort of works yard. A pick-up truck and a tractor were parked in front of a shed. When House entered the yard, a motion sensitive light came on over the door to the shed. House waited for an alarm to go off, but the only sound was the steady beating of the rain and the growl of thunder.

He broke the lock to the shed, which was even less of a challenge than the one on the gate, and he and Wilson went in to wait out the storm.

* * *

"Anne Boleyn's third nipple," House said.

"Right again," Wilson said. "I thought I had you stumped that time. Your turn."

House sat watching the storm through the open door of the shed, his back against the grill of a riding mower. Wilson lay on the floor, eyes shut. His head rested on House's legs, though they were, he complained, too bony and muscular – only slightly more comfortable than the rough concrete floor.

Another flash of lightning, bright enough to penetrate Wilson's closed eyelids. He counted out the interval between the flash and the thunder that followed, as he had done for every strike of lightning since the storm had begun, two hours before.

"One thousand one, one thousand two..." The sound of thunder interrupted him. "It's closer. The storm is taunting us. It retreats just long enough to give us hope that it's finally over and then it comes back."

"It'll be dawn soon," House said. "We'll have to stay here."

"There could be someplace just around the next corner...a barn or even a motel," Wilson said, sitting up.

"Or there could be nothing but trees for the next twenty miles," House said as he got to his feet. "We'll have to bring the bikes inside. I don't want to take the chance of anyone seeing them and coming to investigate."

By the time the two vampires had manoeuvred the motorcycles into the shed, they were both soaking wet and covered knee-deep in mud. There was hardly enough room inside to move. Aside from the motorcycles, there were two riding mowers: stacks of clay flowerpots; rakes, secateurs and other gardening tools hung on hooks on the walls; a round metal barrel decorated with warning signs which probably contained pesticide; and bags of gravel, peat moss and manure.

The sky was beginning to turn pink at the horizon. Wilson got a roll of duct tape out of his motorcycle satchel. Working quickly, he taped the gap between the door and its frame to keep out the sunlight.

"There's no way to lock the door," Wilson said. "What if someone opens it while we're sleeping?"

"No one is going to want a lawn mower today. The ground is too wet. We're safe."

The darkness was absolute. Wilson tried to follow the sound of House's voice.

"Ow!"

"What did you do?" House asked.

"Stubbed my toe on something. You didn't happen to bring a flashlight or a lighter?"

"You don't have one? And you call yourself a boy scout! There's a flashlight in my satchel if you can find it in the dark. Don't waste the batteries though. I didn't bring any extras."

Wilson found the flashlight. He turned it on, producing a narrow funnel of light. He shone the flashlight in the direction of the other vampire's voice. House had made a bed from the bags of peat moss, gravel and fertilizer. Wilson went to join him, climbing over a barricade of clay flower pots and edging past one of the riding mowers.

"You're soaked." House said. "Take off those wet clothes first."

House was already naked, his wet clothes laid over the seat of the riding mower to dry.

Wilson started to peel off his wet clothes. House hummed David Rose's The Stripper – "da da DAH, da da da DAH." Blushing, Wilson flicked off the flashlight.

He carefully made his way to House in the darkness, feeling ahead for any obstacles.

"Oh God, it stinks!"

"Your choice is to join me on this nice soft pile of stinking manure, or try to sleep sitting up in one of the lawn mowers. You could try hanging from one of the hooks on the wall like a bat."

"I'll take the manure," Wilson said.

There was barely room for the two of them. Jammed tight together in the dark, House could feel the tension in Wilson's body.

He remembered a story that the Professor had once told him. It concerned an unsatisfactory apprentice that the Professor had been forced to discipline. The young vampire had an intense fear of the dark – a weakness that the Professor could not tolerate. The Professor had constructed a box, which he had had placed in the courtyard of the farmhouse where he was living. The box was the size of an outhouse, though without the traditional half moon window, and was equipped with a small hose to let in air but not light. Each night, just before dawn, the Professor would lock his student in the box. The Professor had let him out the next night, sometimes as soon as the sun had fallen, at other times later in the evening, sometimes only giving his apprentice an hour or two of respite before caging him up again in total darkness.

The Professor had called this treatment a cure for his phobia; House knew it had been torture.

One evening, the Professor had come to unlock the box and had found it open, the door broken from within. There was no sign of the apprentice, save a thin coating of grease underfoot. The sun had burned him to ashes, and the wind had blown the ashes away.

Wilson didn't like the darkness but House didn't think he had a severe phobia. Still House remembered all the evenings when he'd woken up to find the bathroom light on and the door ajar. Even with House beside him, even with the dim glow of the clock radio to keep darkness away, Wilson had needed to get up and turn on the light.

He imagined Wilson waking up in darkness, groping for the flashlight, the batteries dying on him, and then the vampire, desperate, unreasoning, remembering that on the other side of the shed door there would be light. Not likely, Wilson wasn't that afraid...a mild discomfort wasn't the same thing as a phobia...

"Move over," House said. "You take the side next to the wall."

If Wilson wanted to get to the door, he'd have to crawl over House first to do it.

"Why?" Wilson asked.

House swore as an elbow (or maybe a knee) made contact with a soft and vulnerable part of his anatomy.

"I'm your protector. If the door opens, I'm the one who gets zapped by the sun first."

"Okay," Wilson said skeptically. He knew the limits of House's altruism.

"So we're alone in the middle of the woods, listening to the sound of the gently falling rain..." House whispered, his breath like a gentle breeze on the nape of Wilson's neck.

"Alone except for the stench of manure."

"Ignoring that for the moment..."

"It's a difficult thing to ignore."

"Mmmm," House said. "I'm trying to create a mood here. It's for your benefit since you're the romantic. If you're not interested in being seduced...if you just want the sex without the seduction..."

"No, I like the seduction part..," Wilson said.

"Thought so," House said, shifting position slightly so he could put his arms around Wilson.

He continued where he had left off, "Listening to the timpani of rain beating against the roof, holding you next to my heart... "

He could feel Wilson's tense muscles relax. He kissed him on the nape of the neck, and Wilson purred like a well-fed cat.

Wilson was -always had been –a pushover. It was so easy for House to win him over that he very often didn't bother to take the minimal effort required to keep him happy.

Wilson wasn't like Cuddy. Cuddy had high standards that she expected House to meet. He had to become the person that she knew that he could be – a supportive boyfriend and a good role model for her foster daughter. Her affection was all the more valuable because it was difficult to earn. Cuddy's love was a prize always held enticingly just out of his reach; Wilson's was his for the asking.

The storm was directly overhead. House couldn't see the lightning, but he could feel it, so close that the hairs on the nape of his neck stood on end. He could even taste it on his tongue – metallic and sharp. The thunder was deafening. Rain and hail beat against the roof. It was as if the natural world had taken note of the two alien and unnatural creatures in its midst, and was trying to either force them out or batter its way in to get at them.

The bombardment lasted perhaps twenty minutes, though it seemed longer to the two vampires. There was a moment of silence and then the sound of birdsong, a few cautious chirps at first and then the full dawn chorus. The storm was over and a new day had begun.

* * *

Mia had managed to stay awake, guarding Thirteen as she underwent the delicate process of transformation. She sat on the floor and read _Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. _When she finished that, she picked up _Chamber of Secrets_. J.K. Rowling's familiar world always soothed her when she was angry and upset.

She could hear the Professor's dragging footsteps, as he wandered around the house like a restless ghost. At one point he stopped, pausing outside her door. The Professor tried the doorknob, but she had locked the door. She could hear him breathing. His fingernails scraped against the door. Mia gritted her teeth, imagining him scratching deep trails into the woodwork, but she ignored him. After a few minutes, he shuffled off again. He hadn't come back.

Mia put down her book. She checked her watch and put her in ear against the side of the blanket box. There wasn't a sound. She thought that Thirteen should be waking up, though the exact timing of the process was always inexact – and would be even more uncertain since most of Thirteen's initiation rite had been improvised on the spot.

She rapped on the side of the box.

"Are you awake? Can you move?"

There was no response.

"I'm going to open the lid now. Close your eyes and then open them very slowly. I'll dim the lights but it will still seem very bright to you."

Mia turned off the overhead light, leaving only a reading lamp in the far corner of her bedroom. She opened the lid. Thirteen's eyes were shut, and for a moment, Mia thought that everything had gone well, and that her new initiate was just following instructions. Thirteen didn't move. She lifted her up and Thirteen's head rolled limply, unsupported. Mia slapped her then, hard across the face, but Thirteen still did not move or react. She was dead.

Mia cried then, tears of loss and frustration and anger. She laid Thirteen on the bedroom carpet to unwind the sheets that bound her. She noticed that Thirteen's lips were blue. The young doctor's fingertips were bloody and her nails torn. Her body was cold. She must have been dead for hours. While Mia had been sitting inches away, she'd been suffocating, trying to claw her way through her makeshift shroud. Thirteen must have been too weak from blood loss and the effects of a vampire's venom to rap on the side of the chest or call out.

The body she saw was fully human. As far as Mia could tell, the process of transformation had never even begun.

Thirteen had died in the dark, alone and terrified. She hadn't deserved that death.

* * *

The next evening, signs of the storm's devastation were everywhere. A charred and blackened tree still smouldered just outside the perimeter of the fence, struck by lightning.. It took House and Wilson almost an hour to half drag, half carry their motorcycles the short distance to the highway. The sand and gravel road had turned into a river of thick, glutinous mud.

Once on the highway, they had to dodge branches littering the roadway. They passed road crews working through the night to clear up the debris and repair downed power lines.

House saw the sign first – Butternut Lake, 2 miles. It was handmade and so unobtrusive that anyone going past at normal highway speeds would have missed it. Mud-spattered and strongly smelling of manure, House decided that a refreshing dip in the lake sounded like the perfect start to the night. He waved to Wilson, following a few yards behind, to direct him to turn.

They had gone about a mile and a half down the road when they came to a locked gate, with a sign saying that the lake was closed after sunset. House and Wilson left their bikes by the side of the road, and went the rest of the way by foot.

Hidden by trees, the lake was invisible until they were only a few yards away from the shore. The vampires undressed and waded into its calm, chill waters. House floated on his back, looking up at the distant stars. Wilson was swimming the length of the lake. He swam underwater, with clean efficient strokes, as silently as a seal.

The "whoop" of a siren distrurbed the lake's tranquility. A police car drove up the road, coming to a stop at the boat dock on the edge of the lake. A police officer stepped out of the car.

"Get out of the water," he called to House, his voice carrying clearly over the still water of the lake. "This park is closed to day trippers after dark."

House bobbed in the water.

"I think I'll stay where I am."

"I can wait you out. I've got your clothes here. It's a slow night and I can spend it here or I can spend it hiding behind Doerkson's barn waiting for speeders. Which way doesn't matter much to me, but I bet that water is starting to feel pretty cold by now."

Reluctantly, House swam towards the shore.

"I guess we're looking at a public nudity charge," the policeman said.

"You have to be kidding. There's no public around to see my nudity."

"Not so, we got a complaint."

"From who?"

"A homeowner."

"The vacation homes are way on the other side of the lake. All I'd be from that distance is a blur."

"Not if you've got night vision binoculars," the officer said.

"Somebody who got out of bed in the middle of the night and took out his special night-vision binoculars, hoping to catch a glimpse of skin. You have to wonder about someone who goes to all that effort to be shocked and scandalized."

The police officer walked towards House. House dodged him and ran down the road. The policeman hesitated a moment between chasing House or remaining with the pile of clothing. The naked guy couldn't get far; he'd have to come back for his clothes.

"Yee haw!" House hollered. "You can't catch me, you hick cop!"

The officer sprinted after House.

House looked back to check that the cop was following him. He was, but it was obvious that he was tiring. House slowed down slightly to encourage him.

Housee retrieved his motorcycle from the bushes and hopped on. His engine roared defiantly, shattering the calm silence of the evening.

The police officer cursed as he watch House pull away. He took out his walkie-talkie, and reported the incident, asking his fellow officers to keep an eye out for a naked motorcyclist, and then headed back to his car.

He was sure that he had left the keys in the ignition, but they weren't there. He patted his pockets finding only lint and pocket change. He could have dropped them anywhere, and they'd be impossible to find in the dark. There was another set back at the station of course, but he'd have to phone in and ask someone to pick him up. Losing his keys, letting a naked man get away, he knew that his colleagues would rib him mercilessly about this night.

At least they'd catch the guy. He wouldn't get far naked as a jaybird. If by some miracle he managed to get away, they still had the evidence. He'd left his clothes. If the policeman was lucky, and he certainly deserved some luck at this point, he might even have left his wallet or his cell phone behind.

It was only then that he noticed that the pile of clothing was gone.

* * *

Mia found Thirteen's suitcase under her bed. She pulled it out and began rummaging through it. Boring. Not what she wanted for Thirteen. At the bottom of the suitcase, she found a simple black dress. It wasn't fabulous; it wasn't what Mia would have chosen for her, but it was better than all those dull turtlenecks and jeans. She carefully ironed the dress to get out the wrinkles.

Makeup next and this was tricky. Mia was far from expert in the use of makeup: she had grown up in an era when respectable fifteen year old girls were forbidden from painting their faces. She used Thirteen's own makeup, but the colours all seemed wrong. The bluish tinge to her skin and her lips made everything look off.

She wiped off the makeup and started again. She had plenty of time.

House had gone back to the works yard to wait for Wilson. His friend arrived ten minutes later.

"That was fun," Wilson said. "Like living an episode of the Dukes of Hazzard."

He handed House his clothes, his wallet and his cellphone.

He said, "You've got a text message from Cuddy on your cell. Several, actually."

"Maybe her boy toy detective has found Fox Girl for us," House said, " or maybe Cuddy has finally decided to dump his sorry ass." He tossed Wilson his cell phone. "Read them to me."

"Are you sure? They could be private."

House nodded.

"They're all the same," Wilson said. "She's got a case for you. An activist who travels the world exposing the criminal working conditions in sweat shops and factories. He's been to five different continents in the past two years, exposing himself to any number of industrial chemicals, tropical diseases, and potential pathogens."

"Sounds mildly interesting, but I'm on vacation."

"She must be desperate. She's offering you double the usual consultant's fee," Wilson said. "We need the money, House."

"Fine," House sighed heavily. "Tell her triple the usual fee and we have a deal."

* * *

It was an hour before dawn when Mia drove her white van into the alleyway behind the Beat Box. She looked around cautiously as she stepped out of the vehicle, alert for possible witnesses. When she was satisfied that she was unobserved, she went to the back of the vehicle, taking out a lime green vinyl lawn chair, which she placed directly under the light bulb that illuminated the club's rear entrance. She carried out Thirteen's body and sat her in the lawn chair. She brushed her hair and rested her arms casually on the arm rests of the chair. She looked as if she was napping and might wake up at any moment.

"This is House's fault," she muttered. "He started it."

She was crying again. She couldn't help it. Thirteen was so beautiful.

Mia always had to work for her kills but for Thirteen, everything would have been so easy. She would just have to look at someone, and he'd fall in love with her gray-green cat's eyes. She'd smile her slightly superior, knowing smile, and he'd be caught. He'd follow her anywhere, into darkness and death, just to get a glimpse of the mysteries hinted at by that cool, ironic smile.

Wiping away her tears, Mia climbed back into the van and drove away.

* * *

A short distance away, House and Wilson had arrived back at their apartment building in New York. Wilson was pressing the button for their floor when someone called out "Hold the elevator."

Ignoring House's disapproving glare, Wilson held open the door. Ceci stepped in. She was dressed in a royal blue mini dress that was shedding its sequins. She was barefoot and carried a pair of high-heeled sandals in one hand and a tiny evening bag in the other.

"He dumped me," she said to Wilson, without bothering to say hello or thank you. "He gave me twenty dollars for a cab home and left me. I told him it cost thirty but he just shrugged his shoulders. He dumped me, and I'm out ten bucks! I should sue him."

"Who dumped you?"

"Roberto. I told you about him. The guy with the Jeep."

"Oh, him," said Wilson, who still hadn't the faintest idea who Roberto was. He let the door close. "He wasn't good enough for you anyway."

"You think so?"

"Absolutely," he said. "You're much too smart and pretty for Roberto."

"His Jeep always smelled like wet sheepdog," she said. "You're so sweet. If you weren't gay, I'd go out with you."

She smiled at Wilson, suddenly flirtatious.

Are you sure you aren't bi? You could be and not know it. Have you ever kissed a girl? Have you ever, you know, done it with a girl?"

Wilson took a step back. "I think you've had a little too much to drink tonight."

"We have the same problem, Emil. We both fall in love with guys who aren't good enough for us," she said to Wilson. She quickly looked over his shoulder to judge the effects of her remarks on House.

Her sly glance told House that Ceci wasn't quite as drunk as she appeared to be. House growled, a rumbling sound that was too low for Ceci to hear, but which made Wilson feel very nervous.

Without warning, House grabbed Wilson by the shoulders and pulled him back. He bit him on the earlobe. His message was this: Wilson was his, under his protection. If Ceci wanted to screw around with him and manipulate him, she'd have to take on House as well.

Unfortunately, a behavioural language can be misinterpreted just like a language of words. To Ceci, who did not speak vampire at all, House's action was explicable only as cruelty, perversion and abuse. Wilson was like someone who spoke vampire with a heavy accent. He understood a little more but the finer nuances sometimes escaped him. To him, House was being, once again, unreasonably jealous. Wilson was tired of House's possessiveness.

Wilson pulled forward, trying to regain his balance. Instead of a clean, neat piercing, House tore Wilson's earlobe, which bled profusely.

At the sight of blood, Ceci turned white, and her knees buckled. Wilson darted forward, catching her just before she hit the floor.

"Ceci, Ceci," he said. " Are you all right?"

Ceci had fainted.

"What did she see? Did she see your fangs?" Wilson asked.

"No, of course not. I was careful."

"Careful!" Wilson exclaimed, "We're supposed to be human. Humans don't bite each other!"

The elevator stopped at their floor and Wilson stepped off, carrying Ceci.. Blood was flowing down Wilson's neck and staining his shirt collar, but he ignored it. The wound was minor and would heal by itself.

"Get her shoes and her bag," Wilson said. "The keys to her apartment will be in her bag. "

House gave him a look. He didn't appreciate Wilson giving him orders.

"Please, House," he said, "give me her keys. I'll make sure she's okay, and then I'll be right back. It won't take long."

House got the keys out of the bag and handed them to Wilson. He dumped the evening bags and the shoes on the Ceci's lap. He watched as Wilson, still carrying Ceci, unlocked the door to Ceci's apartment and kicked the door shut behind him. He'd gone in without having to ask for Ceci's permission, which meant that he'd been in her apartment before. House frowned.

It was twenty minutes before Wilson came back. His ear was neatly bandaged. He went into the bathroom to soak his blood-stained shirt in cold water. He didn't turn his head when House came to the doorway.

"I'm sorry," Wilson said. "Ceci had too much to drink. Nothing has ever happened between us and nothing ever will. We're friends."

House said. "Vampires don't have friends. We don't sit around with our girlfriends and dish. We don't join a bowling league or go to the company picnic or invite the whole gang over for pizza. Next time you see her, you tell her you're too busy to talk. And you keep on being busy until she gets the hint."

Wilson nodded. He took a bar of soap and began to scrub his shirt collar.

"We have to act human in public," House said, "but we have to know that we're acting. We have to remember who we really are."


	28. Beautiful Strangers

Beautiful Strangers

Human beings are gregarious. For their own survival, they come together to form families, tribes, villages, and eventually societies and civilizations.

Vampires are an offshoot of humanity, and they still possess that same basic need for companionship. They feel loneliness as humans do, even though temperamentally they are ill-suited to forming relationships. Self-centered to an extreme, vampires are typically neurotic, prone to violent mood swings, and utterly unable to compromise.

Put two vampires together, any two vampires, and their first order of business is to tear each other to ribbons. Of course, over the millennia, vampires have evolved behaviours intended to allow them to co-exist with minimal bloodshed. These behaviours range from simple submissive gestures all the way to elaborate and legalistic ceremonies. Occasionally they actually work.

Mia had been sharing her living quarters with another vampire for months, and the strain of it was beginning to tell on her.

The Professor of Esoteric Medicine, her former teacher, was living in her home, recuperating after a vicious attack by an ungrateful student. His injuries had been severe and disfiguring. His appearance was so shocking that he could not walk the streets among humans without arousing fear and disgust. His verbal abilities had been affected as well. Aside from one single word, he had not spoken, and Mia was not sure how much he comprehended when she talked to him.

Despite being entirely dependent upon her for food and shelter, the Professor continued to act as if he were still the master and Mia the apprentice. Out of misguided loyalty and pity, she had not reprimanded him properly. The Professor, emboldened by her leniency, had broken the most basic rule of hospitality. He had killed a guest in her home.

Mia had placed the Professor's victim outside a New York night club where she was sure to be discovered. She had cried for Thirteen, but the time for tears and grief was over. Mia felt a righteous anger towards the vampire who had abused her hospitality and betrayed her trust.

Mia parked her van at a garage a few blocks from her brownstone. The sky was already turning pink. She walked home at a furious pace. Blinded by rage, it took her a moment to register that the front door was slightly ajar. She had certain that she had left the place fully secured. The alarm system had been activated and the door locked.

Cautiously, Mia stepped through the doorway. She called out to the Professor. There was no answer. She shut and locked the door behind her and then searched the brownstone thoroughly. The Professor was gone.

Mia realized that she had underestimated her old teacher. He must have secretly watched her enter the code to the security system. He had memorized it and used it to make his escape. The Professor had more of his wits left than he had let on.

Still fuming, Mia went to her bedroom. She opened the drawer to her nightstand and took out Wilson's cellphone. House's number was programmed into it. She could warn him that the Professor was alive and in New York. The prospect of entering into an alliance with the Professor's worst enemy was definitely appealing.

Impulsively, she called House's number. She heard the phone ring once...twice.

"Hello," House said. "Is that you, Thirteen?"

Silence.

"If you have something to say, then say it."

"The Professor's alive."

"What? Who is this? Is this Mia?"

Mia hung up. Wilson's phone rang. It was House was calling back. She turned off the phone and put it back in the drawer.

She went downstairs. She changed her security code so that the Professor would not be able to come in. He was out of her life. Whatever happened to him after this was no longer her responsibility.

Mia was too exhausted to make any more decisions. She needed sleep. She went to bed, leaving the Professor and House to fend for themselves.

* * *

The church was filled to overflowing. Some of the mourners were friends and family, but others, perhaps most, had never met the deceased. They were people who had seen her picture on television or in the newspapers and who came out of curiosity or because her story had touched them.

The service was decorous and respectful. The only speaker had been the minister of the church. He talked about Remy's accomplishments and catalogued her virtues. Her father did not speak, perhaps fearing that he would lose his composure. The policeman sat in the front of the church, gazing at his daughter's photograph, which was placed on an easel beside the altar. Remy's brother, who was in the latter stages of Huntington's disease, sat next to him, with a uniformed care attendant sitting on his other side. Sgt. Hadley had lost one child and would soon be losing another. The pain he had to be feeling was difficult to imagine.

Lucas turned away from Sgt. Hadley and looked instead at Remy's photograph. It was a family snapshot, but it looked as if it came from the pages of Vogue. Thirteen was poised, confident, and in total control of the image she projected. She smiled, but the smile never touched her eyes.

Lucas knew all about her. He could have made a comprehensive list of her boyfriends and girlfriends, going back to her first kiss in elementary school. He knew her credit rating. He had read her school reports and transcripts from kindergarten to medical school. He had studied the account of her arrest. He knew all the facts - everything that could be learned from outside - but nothing about what she felt or thought.

Not that it mattered. Chances were, who she was had nothing to do with her death. She had just met the wrong person at the wrong time.

The service was over, and the mourners, feeling vaguely dissatisfied, filed out. Lucas spotted a few familiar faces in the crowd. There was Foreman, a fine neurosurgeon now demoted to prison doctor. He had come to pay his respects to his former girlfriend and colleague. Cameron and Chase were there too, and so was Taub. The cosmetic surgeon was standing next to a red-head half a foot taller than him and at least a decade younger. Lucas had heard rumours that since Taub had left PPTH, his personal life had become very messy and complicated. Of all of House's fellows, only Kutner was absent. He was still on sabbatical in India. His friends were beginning to doubt that he would ever come back.

The sun beat down on him as he stood on the steps of the church, but Lucas shivered. Since House had disappeared, everything had changed. Who could have guessed that one bad-tempered, egotistical genius was the glue that kept PPTH together?

He turned to face Lisa Cuddy, the hospital's chief administrator and Dean of Medicine.

"There's a reception for friends and family," he said, 'but I'm not sure that we'd be welcome."

"You go," Cuddy said. "There's some hospital business that I should see to while I'm in New York. I'll meet you later."

She walked away briskly, stiletto heels tapping. Lucas watched her go.

His workaholic girlfriend had taken the day off to attend the funeral of a disgraced ex-employee she had barely known. That wasn't like her. Her behaviour puzzled him, but much of what Lisa Cuddy did was a mystery to him these days.

She was hiding something from him. He had tried to ignore the evidence: locked doors, phone calls abruptly terminated when he entered the room, even an unexplained outing in the very early hours of the morning. Lucas hadn't asked her questions because he'd be able to tell if she were lying, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to know the truth.

* * *

As soon as she was around the corner, Cuddy took out her cellphone and dialled House's number. The phone rang a dozen times before House finally picked it up.

He'd been asleep, and House groused that eleven thirty was far too early to disturb someone who seldom went to bed before eight in the morning. Lisa paid no attention to his complaints. She needed to see talk to him in person, and she couldn't wait until nightfall.

It took several minutes of persuasion and argument to get House to give her his address. Lisa hailed a cab to take her there. House's apartment building was a hotel that had been converted into cheap rental units. The building was run-down, and it would have taken a far more observant eye than Cuddy's to see its fine architectural lines and the traces of its former grandeur.

Instead of waiting for House to buzz her in, she slipped in the door behind an elderly woman carrying groceries. She followed her into the elevator and went up to House's floor. The halls were dimly lit and windowless, blocked off from any natural light. Cuddy knocked on the door.

Wilson answered the door. He was wearing a t-shirt, pajama bottoms, and thick wool socks. His hair was mussed; there were dark circles under his eyes,; and he needed a shave. He looked about as fearsome as a week-old kitten. Wilson blinked at her sleepily for a second before stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind him.

"Where's House?" she asked.

"Getting dressed," he replied. "I need to speak to you for a moment before you see him."

"I'm not sure that we have anything to talk about."

"Coming here wasn't a good idea. You've texted House, called him on the phone and sent him e-mails. Now you've come to New York to see him. You`re encouraging his obsession. If you don`t want to join us, stay away. It's unkind to play with his emotions, and it's dangerous."

"I'm not 'playing with' House," Cuddy said, "I came here to talk about Thirteen, not to steal away your protector or break his sensitive vampire heart."

"Keep your voice down," Wilson said.

"You've given me your advice. If we`re done, I came to speak to House."

Wilson opened the door.

"I'm not your enemy, Lisa. I'm on your side."

"You and I are never going to be on the same side," Cuddy said, as she brushed past him. She was trembling.

House's studio apartment was dimly lit and shabby. Piles of paperback books were stacked against the wall, making the cramped space seem even smaller. There was a tiny unused kitchenette to one side and an even tinier closet on the other. She could pick out a few treasures hidden in the gloom: a flat screen television, a fine guitar. House was standing in the only other doorway, which seemed to lead to the bathroom. He'd been towel drying his hair, and he dropped the towel down casually on top of a pile of books. He took a step towards Cuddy.

Cuddy stepped back. There was a moment of supreme social awkwardness when House realized that Cuddy was afraid of him.

"I'd offer you refreshments, but all we have is tap water," House said, unsuccessfully trying to hide his dismay. He sat down on the sofa, gesturing for Cuddy to sit beside him. She didn't move.

"You didn't give us much warning that you were coming," Wilson said. "The place is a bit of a mess. Last night, I decided to rearrange my books. I had them ordered by author but I think chronological by country of origin might be more useful."

Wilson cleared a pile of books from an armchair. He sat down next to House on the sofa. Cuddy perched on the armchair uneasily. She glanced at the cover of one of the books. It pictured a caped figure towering over a waiflike young woman in a diaphanous nightgown. She looked away, feeling queasy.

"I told you over the phone that I had nothing to do with what happened to Thirteen," House said. "What do you have to discuss with me that couldn't wait until a decent hour?"

"If you didn't kill her, who did? Was it Wilson?"

"It wasn't Wilson. He was with me the night she was killed," House said. "Probably Mia. Possibly the Professor."

"Who's the Professor? Another vampire?"

House nodded.

"Why would they kill Thirteen?"

"To send a message to me," House said.

"What message?"

"Be afraid. Be very afraid," House guessed, shrugging his shoulders. "Thirteen was left outside the Beat Box. Mia knows I used to play there."

"If the press connects Thirteen's death with our disappearance, things could get very awkward," Wilson said. "Someone from the Beat Box could recognize House from a picture in the newspaper or on TV."

"Could recognize both of us," House corrected," Arthur "Mike" Mycroft, smokin' hot jazz pianist, and his eccentric manager Emil Lime."

"Eccentric!" Wilson protested.

"Eccentric is code for flamboyantly gay."

"Stop that," Cuddy said. "Thirteen is dead, and you're joking around. She used to be one of your fellows. You told me that she had the potential to be a brilliant doctor. If she hadn't become involved with you, she'd still be alive."

"That's hardly fair," Wilson said. "We didn't try to recruit her. Thirteen came to us, not the other way around. She tried to blackmail me."

"That was her big mistake," House said. "It turns out that Wilson really, really hates being blackmailed."

"Can't you even pretend to be sorry?"

"I could pretend," House said, "but you'd know I was faking. She tried to kill Wilson."

"Vampires aren't very good at forgiveness," Wilson said. "They are...we are...much better at vengeance and holding grudges."

"You made me part of this," she said, turning towards Wilson. "You barged into my house, dripping blood all over my floor, and you made me accessory to murder...two murders. I should go to the police."

"But you won't," House said.

"No, I won't." Cuddy said, getting to her feet. She looked weary and defeated. "Think about leaving the city. Think about going somewhere very far away. Las Vegas, Tierra del Fuego, wherever you like. Think about it seriously."

"I will," House said.

Cuddy left without saying goodbye.

* * *

Lucas and Cuddy were on the road back to Princeton. Lucas was driving Cuddy's SUV. Cuddy had slipped off her heels and was leaning back in her seat, eyes closed. She opened the window a few inches, letting the breeze play with her dark, curly hair.

"How did the reception go?"

"Awkward," Lucas said. "Sgt. Hadley shot me a death glare that would faze a raging elephant.

Foreman was there."

"I saw him at the funeral."

"He's working at a prison. He says the cons are crammed in like battery hens and his job is to keep them doped up on mood stabilizers and anti-psychotics so they don't kill each other. That and stitch up the stab wounds when the drugs don't work."

"He sounds cynical."

"He's bored out of his mind," Lucas said. "He's a neurosurgeon. All that skill, all those years of education wasted."

"This isn't an idle conversation, is it?"

"Firing him and refusing to write him a recommendation ruined his career. Maybe you were a bit harsh..."

"His actions cost the hospital millions of dollars in research funding. It wasn't entirely my decision. The board..."

"The board does exactly what you tell it to. You've got those old men wrapped around your little finger and you know it. Foreman's spent his time in purgatory. Don't you think it's time to forgive him?"

"He's not coming back to PPTH. I won't backtrack on that," Cuddy said, "but I'll talk to Ed at Saint Sebastian. I'll see what I can do."

"Great," Lucas said.

"Don't tell anyone," Cuddy said. "I wouldn't want it to get out. The best part of my day is when random strangers tell me I'm a bitch."

"No kidding. Do they really do that?"

"About as often as people tell you to mind your own business."

Lucas smiled. He took his eyes of the road to glance at his girlfriend.

"At this rate, we should get back to Princeton at three thirty or four and Rachel's babysitter is booked until six. That gives us at least a couple of hours to ourselves."

Cuddy opened her eyes and stretched.

"Stop tempting me. I really should spend some time on my budget presentation."

"You know those figures backwards and forwards. Any more prep will just get you keyed up. What you need to do is relax. Back at my apartment I've got bubble bath and champagne and chocolate..."

"Do you really?"

"No. I've got beer and potato chips. And dish soap if you're really into bubbles."

"It sounds wonderful."


	29. A Small and Insignificant Victory

Ever since he had left Mia's house, the Professor had been sleeping in the back seat of a vintage Bentley. He'd found the car covered by a blue tarp in the lowest floor of an underground parking garage. The layer of dust on top of the tarp had told him that the car hadn't been touched for months. When he'd broken in, the Bentley's alarm had gone off, but no one had been around to hear it. Once he cut off the alarm and replaced the tarp, the Professor had a safe place to spend the daylight hours.

Finding such a comfortable lair was his one and only stroke of luck. He had had no success finding his errant pupil. The Professor was an excellent tracker. At the age of eleven, he had tracked a wild boar for ten days, following the beat through forest, field and swamp, until he had finally cornered it and cut off his head. House was close, but his scent was obscured by the smells of vehicle exhaust, rotting garbage, and the various odours of the millions of human beings living around him. He left no footprints on the city's concrete sidewalks.

His search had been handicapped as well by the Professor's physical injuries. His appearance attracted unwanted attention. He'd covered his head with a grey wool cap, to hide its distorted shape, and he kept to the shadows. He waited outside the night clubs where House had worked, like a lion beside a watering hole, but House wasn't stupid enough to return to those locations once he knew he'd been discovered.

The Professor wanted to go inside – to question anyone who had seen House, to torture and kill them if necessary to get the information – but he couldn't question anyone. He couldn't speak. English words became confused with the words of the dialect he had spoken as a child. When he opened his mouth to speak all that came out were mangled syllables and growls.

Out of place in New York, the Professor took refuge in sleep. In the nameless plain that was the land between dreams, he lit a fire to keep the fog away and brooded. When he was a young man, there had been a dozen campfires on this plain, each the hearth of some powerful shaman or mystic. The fires had gone out, as the mystics died without passing on their knowledge of this place to their sons and daughters. He was alone.

Suddenly, he lifted his head, staring into the fog. He felt something. Was it a tug, a subtle magnetic pull? A scent almost too faint to detect? He stood up, shutting his eyes to concentrate better. After a few moments, eyes still shut, he took a step. He paused and then, when he was sure, he took another step, letting that unnameable sense lead him to his prey.

* * *

Cuddy slammed the door as she left House's apartment. For a moment, there was no sound except the muffled tapping of her stiletto heels on the thinly carpeted hall. Then House stood up. He turned around and removed one of the sofa cushions, throwing it to Wilson.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked.

"Going back to bed," House said, as he removed the second cushion. "Between your tossing and turning and Cuddy's 'urgent' phone call, I've had hardly any sleep."

"Don't you think we should talk? Thirteen was buried today. She was a hand-picked member of your team; you worked together for months. You have to be feeling... "

"I thought that you and Cuddy were agreed that vampires are heartless, soulless monsters," House interrupted caustically. "One of the few advantages of being a heartless monster isn't that you don't have to discuss your feelings."

"Fine," Wilson said.

House pulled out the sofa bed. Wilson watched him, making no effort to help. Wilson rubbed his neck nervously.

Wilson said, "I think Cuddy's right. We should leave New York."

"I like New York. I want to stick around for a while, and I'm not letting some decrepit remnant from the Dark Ages scare me away."

"We aren't safe here."

"Nowhere is safe until I deal with the Professor."

"Deal with him..." Wilson said. "What do you mean?"

"I should have run over his misshapen head when he was lying in the road," House said. "I made a mistake then and I have to fix it. "

House pulled out the sofa bed.

"You can't mean that you're going after the Professor," Wilson said. "He's stronger than you are and trickier. He's lived eight hundred odd years because he's sly and nasty and he plays dirty. "

House showed no signs of having heard a word. He was undressing, pulling off his clothes and leaving them in a heap on the floor. Wilson picked up the discarded clothes and folded them, leaving them in a neat pile on the armchair that Cuddy had recently occupied.

"I won't think any less of you if you walk away. These vampire feuds are ridiculous and old-fashioned."

"I tried to kill him. The Professor isn't going to forget about that. He won't let me walk away. This is my call anyway. I make the decisions," House reminded him.

"You keep telling me you're my protector. You can't protect me if the Professor kills you. Once you're gone, he'll come after me. If you're lucky, he'll kill you quickly...but I'm sure the Professor will think up something excruciatingly slow and lingering for me. Vampires are very hardy. He could keep me alive me years."

"I promise that whatever I decide to do, I'll make sure that the Professor can't hurt you."

"You can't promise that. You'll be dead!"

"Are you getting into bed, or are you planning to stand there in the dark watching me sleep? Because that's really creepy."

"I'll stay up and read for a while. I'm not tired," Wilson said, although the dark circles under his eyes belied him.

"Come to bed," House ordered. "I sleep better when you're next to me."

Wilson turned out the light and crawled into bed. He stared at the ceiling, eyes wide open, resisting sleep.

Holding Wilson in his arms was like trying to cuddle an anchor.

Finding out the Professor was still alive had been the confirmation of Wilson's darkest fears. In vain, House had pointed out that Mia was hardly the world's most reliable source of information and that even if he were still alive, they were hidden within a city with a population of more than eight million. They were still safe. The magical word "safe," which usually calmed Wilson, had no effect this time.

In urgent need of distraction, Wilson had cleaned their apartment from top to bottom, but the place was so small that it took hardly any time at all. When that was done, he decided to re-organize and build shelves for his library of vampire literature. Halfway through this project, his nervous energy had abruptly deserted him. Piles of books were everywhere, taking over their tiny apartment, and the task of putting them back into some sort of order had suddenly seemed overwhelming.

Wilson's anxiety meant that House was sleep-deprived and living in chaos. If Wilson were human, House could have given him an Ativan or slipped him a sleeping pill in his coffee. Unfortunately, drugs intended for humans are ineffective on vampires. If only there were a way to make Wilson relax and get some sleep, so House's life could get back to normal...

"You're so tense," House said. "There's a knot the size of a beach ball at the base of your neck. Take off your t-shirt and turn over. I'm going to give you a massage."

"No"

"I know what I'm doing. I learned my technique from a five hundred dollar an hour hooker."

"Still no."

"She was a registered massage therapist before she found out how much more she could make as a prostitute," House said. "Trust me."

Wilson lay on his stomach, his head resting on his arms. House sat on the small of his back. He hooked his legs under Wilson's. He leaned forward, his hands on Wilson's shoulders supporting his weight.

"This is going to hurt a bit at first, but you'll be much more relaxed afterwards."

House leaned down and bit Wilson on the neck. It took Wilson a second to realize what was happening. This was no friendly nip; House was drinking his blood. The Wilson reacted, snarling, kicking, growling, all to no avail since House had him pinned against the mattress.

"Never trust anyone who says 'trust me'," House said. "The Professor has nothing on me. I've got a black belt in dirty tricks."

"Let go of me, you bastard!" Wilson said. "You've proved your point. Now, let me go."

House bit down again. Wilson's fought back furiously, calling House a surprisingly wide and varied selection of uncomplimentary names in the process. House could feel him beginning to weaken. The stream of profanity slowed to a mere trickle. House released him.

"Why did you attack me? What rule did I break this time?" Wilson asked. His voice was slurred and indistinct. He was too drowsy and weak from blood loss to be properly indignant.

"No rule," House said. "You're just too delicious. I couldn't help myself.

You can be angry with me later. I'll let you call me an ass as many times as you want. For now, let's just get some sleep."

He covered Wilson with an electric blanket, since the other vampire felt the cold severely when he didn't have enough blood to warm him. Then House closed his eyes and fell asleep.

* * *

House limped across the main foyer, heading for the elevators. His leg hurt abominably this morning, more than usual, and it was slowing him down. He had the annoying feeling that he was late for something important, but he couldn't remember what.

The only other person in the elevator was a young woman in a sparkly mini-dress much more suitable to an evening at a nightclub than to a morning spent at the hospital. She looked vaguely familiar. A former clinic patient perhaps? The door closed and the elevator began to ascend.

She glared at House with open hostility.

"You show up here again. You're a real bastard, aren't you?" she said, spitting out contempt with every syllable.

Definitely a clinic patient, House decided.

The elevator door opened and she disappeared.

House got off on the fourth floor and headed for the DDx conference room. His team should have been waiting for him there, but they weren't. The room was dark and empty. He switched on the light and paged his team members. He waited for a few moments for them to come to him, but nobody replied. Impatiently, he decided to track them down himself.

The hospital corridors, usually bustling with patients and staff, were oddly quiet. He caught a glimpse of Thirteen at the end of the corridor and called out to her. She turned her head looking straight at House, frowned, and walked through a swinging door, lost to sight.

House followed her through the door. Thirteen was too quick for him. She was gone. He was standing in front of the chemotherapy suite. That wasn't right. Since when was the chemo suite on the fourth floor?

The chemo suite, like much of the hospital, had glass walls; something that House thought was a mistake. It seemed unkind that the patients' private misery should be on public display. The unit's attending nurse, a middle-aged woman with bleached blonde hair, turned to look through the glass walls at House. Her expression was unreadable. The patient she was tending, a burly man in desperate need of a bath, stared at House blankly. The man turned to the nurse. Though he could not hear him, House could lip-read what he was saying.

"Is that him?" he asked, pointing at House.

House walked away, strangely unnerved.

The empty corridors were filling up, suddenly bustling with purpose. There was Birnbaum, a decent surgeon but a man with a huge natural capacity for malice. He was smirking, highly pleased about something, which undoubtedly meant bad news for somebody. Sandy, Wilson's assistant, walked past, carrying a clipboard and paying so little attention to House that he might as well have been invisible. House spotted Grace, Wilson's former patient, with whom the oncologist had had a short and highly improper affair. House thought she was dead... had died shortly after she returned from her dream trip to Europe... but there she was. He clearly remembering taking Wilson out to get drunk when his friend got the news of her death, so House's memory had to be playing tricks on him.

House felt disoriented, dizzy, but he fought the feeling. There was something he had to do, if only he could remember.

Cuddy walked past him then. She was walking with purpose but the sound of her stiletto heels was strangely muffled, as if she were walking on carpet instead of tile. House called out to her, but she didn't seem to hear him. He followed her. Cuddy was heading for the stairs and he sped up, knowing that if she reached them his chance of catching up to her would be gone. She reached the door several steps ahead of him and looked through the glass panel into the stairwell. Instead of opening the door and going down the stairs, she stood looking through the glass. She turned, walked past House, and headed back the way she had come.

House could hear someone pounding on the door. Curious, he looked though the glass panel. Wilson was on the other side of the door. The oncologist was in a state of panic – perspiring, dishevelled, pupils dilated with fear. House opened the door, and Wilson tumbled out. House reached out to catch him before he fell to the floor.

"Something was chasing me down the stairs. The door was locked, and it kept getting closer and closer, and Cuddy wouldn't let me out," Wilson gasped. "I swear it wanted to kill me. Call security."

House looked through the glass panel of the door. He was staring eye to eye with something he recognized. A white-faced monster with eyes that blazed with hatred. House knew who the creature was, and suddenly everything fell into place.

"Let's go to the cafeteria," he said to Wilson. "We need to talk."

* * *

"So none of this is real, "Wilson said. "In real life, I'm a vampire. I'm just dreaming that I'm sitting in the hospital cafeteria eating a carrot and raisin muffin. I must have no imagination whatsoever."

Wilson was in the midst of a perfectly ordinary day at PPTH, and he and House were having a mid-morning coffee. House was playing some kind of game with him. He didn't know what the game was yet, but he was interested enough to play along.

"This is where you go when you're feeling threatened. This is your safe haven, but the Professor has found his way in," House said.

Wilson nodded, obviously not believing a word of what House was saying. "Are you going to eat those chili cheese fries?"

"No," House said. "It turns out that I can't taste anything while I'm in your dream. Which doesn't seem fair, since I can feel pain. Couldn't you have set your dream a little further back in the past, before I had my infarction?"

Wilson leaned forward and took one of House's fries.

"Tastes fine to me."

"You can't really taste it. You just think you can."

"Now, you're going to get all Matrix-y and tell me to take the red pill," Wilson said. "This has been an interesting conversation, but I have patients to see."

"Wilson, do you even remember what happened ten minutes ago? Do you remember being chased down the stairway by something horrible that wanted to kill you?"

Wilson looked confused.

"There was an old man...maybe he had dementia. I was frightened. I don't know why he scared me so much," Wilson said. "I over-reacted when I couldn't get the door open. A touch of claustrophobia, I guess."

He laughed nervously.

House leaned forward. His hand brushed against Wilson's.

"That was the Professor. Not just a part of your dream, but the real thing. I know it was him, because I saw the hatred in his eyes," House said. "You just aren't capable of that kind of hatred. No matter how angry you get with me, you still love me."

Wilson looked uncomfortable. He moved his hand so House wasn't touching him anymore. House wasn't supposed to touch him. They never touched.

House had noticed Wilson's reaction. He didn't like that House was doing something that didn't fit the parameters of his dream. House briefly considered doing something wildly out of character – like kissing Wilson on the lips or stabbing him with a fork. Too risky, House thought. Upset the dream too much, and Wilson would wake up. Then their chance to break the Professor's hold over him would be lost.

"There's a connection between you and the Professor. A connection that's all about fear and secrecy and self-loathing. He's hooked you like a fish, and he can feel you struggling on the other end of the line."

Wilson picked up his empty coffee cup and put it on his tray, obviously preparing to leave. House grabbed his hand. He looked into his best friend's eyes.

"Wilson," he said. "You know I'm telling you the truth."

Wilson looked away.

"If he's in my dreams, it's because he followed you in! You broke in and you left the door wide open so that anyone could come in!"

"I did sneak in once," House admitted, "and if you remember this conversation when you wake up, you're going to be mad as hell at me for that. But I think this time, I came by invitation. This time you called out for help. Dreaming about the Professor somehow let him in and now you need my help to get him out.

I think you have to kill the Professor to get him out of your mind. It's doable. We've got him cornered. He can't leave the stairwell, because this place is full of windows and there's bright sunlight everywhere. If he steps outside, he's dust. All you need is a flamethrower or a samurai sword..."

"But you said I'm a vampire, and I'm sitting here by the window," Wilson said.

"In the real world, you're a vampire. In this dream, you're human. The Professor, however, was definitely a vampire. I saw his fangs close up. He really needs a good cleaning."

"I am not going to use a flamethrower on some poor old man."

"He's not some poor old man, and none of this is real anyway. You know it isn't."

"How do I know that?" Wilson said. "What if I'm schizophrenic like my brother, and I'm having some kind of delusional episode where I imagine some harmless old guy is the devil? I can't take the chance."

House sighed.

"Holy water," Wilson said. I'll use holy water. If he's a harmless old man, it won't hurt him, but if he's a vampire, he'll shrivel up and die."

House wasn't certain about that. He knew that faith gave religious artefacts their power over vampires, and Wilson's faith was by no means strong. Some wishful thinking about higher powers and an afterlife shakily built over a vaguely Jewish foundation. His wobbly religious beliefs certainly did not include the doctrines of papal infallibility or transubstantiation.

It didn't matter, though, whether holy water would work in the real world. They were in Wilson's dream, and dreams have a logic of their own.

"We'll go back to my office," House said, "I have some holy water there."

"Why would you keep holy water in your office?"

"Because you're too damned wimpy to dream up hand grenades and AK 47s," House said irritably.

* * *

There were three bottles sitting on House's desk. Two of them were the easily portable gallon-size and the third was the standard size for water coolers. It held five gallons. All were neatly labelled with a cross and the words "Holy water – blessed by the Pope."

"I guess this is extra ammo," House said, picking up the five-gallon jug and carrying it on his shoulder. He held his cane in his other hand. Wilson carried the smaller bottles.

The hospital corridors were entirely deserted. The only sounds were their own footsteps and the hum of fluorescent lights. They stopped in front of the door to the stairwell. Wilson peered in.

"There's no one there," he said.

"He's hiding," House said. "Be ready for him."

"You're not coming?"

House shook his head. "It has to be you."

Wilson put the bottle down for a second to take off the caps. He picked them up, and then awkwardly opened the door, sloshing holy water on the floor.

"Are you there?" he called out.

The door slammed shut behind him. Wilson could feel the Professor's presence. He was there, out of sight, waiting for the right moment to attack. Wilson put one of the jugs down on the floor at his feet. He held the other ready.

"Why  
don't you come out? Don't tell me you're afraid! It's me. House's slave. I'm weak and pathetic. You eat people like me for breakfast!'

The Professor had been hiding on the stairs above, and now he pounced. He knocked Wilson to the floor. The jug of holy water went flying, soaking both of them. The Professor jumped back, screaming with pain. His skin was charred, burned black and smoking, wherever the holy water has touched him. He hissed at Wilson, eyes blazing with fury.

Wilson tried to grab the second bottle of water, but the vampire was too quick for him. The Professor grabbed it. Some of the water spilled out, burning his hands to the bone, but his grip did not loosen. He turned the bottle upside down, emptying it.

Wilson got to his feet. He was shaking. The Professor advanced upon him. His eyes were like a doorway opening into Hell.

"I had to be sure... I couldn't take the chance of harming an innocent old man..." Wilson said.

The Professor was close to him now. His taloned fingers reached out to caress Wilson's cheek. His breath reeked of decay and rot. The oncologist flinched at his touch but did not look away.

"but now that I know what you really are, there's nothing stopping me."

Wilson pulled out a sharpened stake from his belt.

The Professor froze, assessing the situation. He wasn't concerned about this last feeble gesture of defiance. His prey had a little more spirit to him than he had expected, but that would just make his inevitable death all the more enjoyable. He smiled widely, displaying his teeth.

Wilson snarled, showing his own needle-sharp teeth. In that instant, he transformed before the ancient vampire's astonished gaze, becoming in his dreams what he was in the waking world. With a vampire's strength and speed, Wilson stabbed the Professor, plunging the stake through his sternum and into his heart.

* * *

The Professor woke up. Reflexively, his hand went to his breastbone. He could feel his heart beating. He was alive.

Any loss was bitter, but losing to Wilson was especially hard to stomach. Of course, it had been his own over-confidence that had done him in – nothing to do with Wilson, really. House`s servant was the same pitiful half-human he had always been. His former apprentice had fallen in love with somebody completely unworthy of him. If this was another era, he might have suspected Wilson of practising the black arts or dosing him with a love philtre.

The Professor had long since evolved beyond any need for love and affection, but he recognized love`s power over human beings and lesser vampires. Love was a weakness that he could exploit, and Wilson`s dream had shown him how.


	30. A Fair Exchange

House, as cold-blooded as any reptile, was drawn to sources of heat. Wilson's electric blanket was his sun-warmed rock. As he slept, the vampire instinctively inched towards the heated blanket, encroaching on Wilson's side of the bed. The younger vampire woke up just as he was about to tip out of bed, his sharpened reflexes allowing him to land nimbly on his feet instead of in an ignominious heap on the floor.

At that moment, Wilson's dream life at PPTH was still fresh in his memory. It seemed much more substantial than his waking life. He blinked, registering the tiny dimensions of the darkened apartment, the smell of dusty old books, and the constant background hum of traffic noise.

"Was that real?" Wilson asked. "The Professor, the holy water?"

House, dimly visible as a lump under the blankets, opened his eyes briefly.

"You were dreaming. Go back to sleep."

House moved to his own side of the bed, taking the electric blanket with him.

"Were you stalking me in my dreams? House...House!"

House didn't reply. He was asleep.

* * *

Lucinda had planned a dinner party to celebrate her husband's latest promotion. She'd invited her sister Lisa, her sister's boyfriend and her foster daughter. Lucas and Rachel had arrived promptly at seven o'clock, but Lisa hadn't been with them. She was, as usual, finishing up a few things at work, but Lucas had promised that she would be there soon. It was now a quarter to eight.

"I timed my leg of lamb for seven thirty. I'm serving it now," Lucinda said. "I'm not letting my workaholic sister ruin everyone else's meal."

"She has had a lot on her mind lately," Lucas said. "I'm sure tonight's dinner just slipped her mind. I'll drive over to the hospital and pick her up. You can watch Rachel for a few minutes?"

Lucinda nodded. "She's fine. She's watching The Muppet Movie in the family room. Tell Lisa that she needs to relax once in a while. Take a mental health break."

Lucas nodded.

For the past week, Cuddy had left for work in the early morning and come home late in the evening, after Rachel was already in bed. All Rachel had seen of her mother was a hurried kiss over the breakfast table, as Cuddy grabbed her usual dry toast and black coffee before heading out the door. Long hours came with Lisa's job, but this went beyond her normal routine.

Lucas thought that Cuddy was immersing herself in work to avoid having to deal with something else. He just didn't know what that something else was. Cuddy had pleaded exhaustion whenever he tried to talk to her. The alternative explanation was that all those late nights weren't spent at work at all. Lucas didn't want to consider that possibility.

He was secretly relieved to see Cuddy's SUV in her usual parking space.

He parked his van in the staff parking lot, taking the space that was assigned to Gregory House. House had mysteriously disappeared several months ago. It was likely that he had been killed, perhaps by his best friend James Wilson. Until what actually happened was confirmed, the space was still technically House's, but that state of affairs couldn't last much longer. There was a long waiting list for parking spots.

As he stepped out of the van, Lucas caught a flicker of movement in the corner of his eye. He turned. He didn't see anyone, but he knew that someone was there. Lucas trusted his instincts. He was being watched.

"Hey, you," Lucas called out assertively. "What are you doing back there? Come out where I can see you."

The Professor snarled and launched himself at Lucas. Although the ancient vampire could not have weighed more than a hundred and fifteen pounds, the force was enough to knock Lucas to the ground.

Lucas was stunned, the breath knocked out of him by the sudden attack. The Professor took full advantage of the moment. He bit deeply into Lucas's neck.

Lucas cried out in pain and surprise. Lucas was bigger than his assailant and younger. He had taken self-defence training. He should have been able to defend himself against a frail old man, but nothing he did seemed to faze his assailant. The Professor latched on to Lucas's throat like a pit-bull and none of the blows that Lucas rained down on him had the slightest effect.

Lucas wasn't the Professor's intended target. He had been waiting for Cuddy, but the Professor wasn't about to let the evening go totally to waste. This annoying human would pay for his interference with his life.

* * *

Wilson was confused. He was in the uncomfortable position of feeling two incompatible emotions at once. Every time he thought of House trespassing in his dreams, rummaging through his deepest thoughts and feelings, he felt sick with pent-up anger and resentment. But House's interference had finally broken the hold that the Professor held over him. That poisonous creature was no longer infesting his psyche, and the world was a brighter happier place without him. He was sincerely grateful to House for his help.

Either of these emotions would have been difficult for the neophyte vampire to handle. Swinging between the two extremes, often within the space of a single thought, made him feel dizzy and exhausted.

This is temporary," he assured House, as he packed.

"If you're going to come back, why bother moving out in the first place?"

"It's only across the hall. I have to sort things out," he told House. "Just give me some time."

House nodded, but Wilson knew that House wasn't a patient man. The time he was willing to give Wilson to "sort things out" was limited. Wilson needed to find a way to exorcise his feelings – his gratitude and his resentment - and restore some kind of equilibrium. And he had to find that way quickly.

* * *

Wilson leaned over to give him a kiss on the forehead, lavishing on this nameless stranger all the affection that properly belonged to House.

"It's time to go," House said. He was acting as Wilson's look-out.

"Not yet," Wilson said. "He's still breathing."

Wilson looked down into the face of his latest victim. He was a tall, lean African-American man in his late thirties. Wilson gently stroked his cheek with one finger.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

House frowned. "We'll miss the start of Mad Men."

"I set your DVR to record it before we left. I'm not leaving him to die alone."

"I think he'd prefer dying alone to dying in the arms of the man who murdered him. He doesn't want you here. It's an insult. If he could still talk, he'd tell you to go to hell."

Wilson's eyes filled with tears at this dose of unfiltered reality. He cried easily when he was drunk.

House knelt down beside Wilson's victim. He smelled expensive aftershave and leather. House coveted the man's leather jacket. It was butter-soft and would fit House like a glove. Of course, House had made it a rule never to take anything from a kill but untraceable paper currency. Not only was "souvenir hunting" tacky and tasteless, but the trophies were dangerous evidence. Still, every rule should be broken at least once, just to find out what would happen.

"Let's see who you are," he said, reaching into the man's pocket to retrieve his wallet.

House swore. "You killed a cop," he said. "Darius Pryce of the NYPD. The police aren't going to let the death of one of their own slide. They won't blame this one on feral dogs."

"He couldn't be a cop. Hunting him was too easy," Wilson said. "A policeman would pay more attention to his surroundings."

House shrugged, "Maybe he wasn't a very god cop. Or maybe he was distracted."

He held out another discovery – a velvet-covered jeweller's box.

"Your friend Darius had this in his coat pocket. An engagement ring. My guess is that he was going to propose tonight. His girlfriend is probably sitting in a fancy restaurant somewhere right now calling him all sorts of names because he stood her up. This ring turns a back alley killing into a front-page human interest story."

House took the ring out of the box, walked over to a drainage grate, and dropped the engagement ring into its depths.

"Let's go home."

"I didn't know..."

House glared at him. Wilson shut up then.

House grabbed Wilson and pulled him to his feet. Wilson staggered, leaning against the building wall to steady himself. House didn't wait for him for him. He walked away, expecting his servant to follow him. Wilson trailed miserably.

By the time they arrived back at the apartment building, House's quicksilver temper had cooled. He held the elevator door open for Wilson.

"You can come over to my place to watch Mad Men if you like," he said, as they rode upwards. "You don't want to miss January Jones in a fat suit."

Wilson looked unsure.

"You can go back to your new apartment after it's over. Postponing your brooding time for an hour won't change anything."

Wilson thought of his empty room. It was almost exactly the same as the room he had shared with House – the same battered furniture bought cheaply decades before, the same faded carpet decorated with ancient stains and cigarette burns. The only difference was that Wilson's new place lacked all creature comforts. No Egyptian cotton sheets. No flat screen cable TV. No House.

"Fine, I'll just stay for an hour."

Wilson and House sat on opposite ends of the couch. House turned on the television and they watched in silence. Wilson was tense, expecting an overture from House. He both longed for and dreaded that moment when House would touch him, would lean across the cross to take him in his arms, kiss him...

I won't be able to say no to him, Wilson thought, covertly glancing at House. I want sex. Why should I deny myself the one thing that I'm sure that I want just because I'm confused about everything else?

"I am grateful for what you did for me yesterday," Wilson said, "even though I don't like how you did it. I've been trying to think of a way to repay you."

"You haven't been acting very grateful."

"I could pay you back by helping with your research."

"I'm not on a case right now," House said. "Cuddy thinks I'm packing up for a move to the Southern hemisphere."

"Not one of your cases, your research into the nature of vampires. I had a specific experiment in mind. A scientific demonstration of a vampire's superior stamina compared to ordinary human males."

Wilson gave House what he fondly thought was a sexy look, just in case House had missed the implications of his last remark. His "sexy look" wasn't actually sexy; it made him look cross-eyed and a little addled.

"You've forgiven me then," House said.

"Not yet," Wilson said honestly, "but I think this will help."

* * *

Sarah Raymond, a nurse's aide in the pediatric ward, was taking a quick, unauthorized cigarette break when she saw them – two men rolling around the floor of the staff parking arcade, trying to beat each other senseless. She stood watching them for a few seconds, uncertain about what to do. Then the smaller of the two looked up. He glared at her, hissing like a snake.

Sarah took a step back, fumbling in her handbag. She found what she wanted at the bottom of the bag. She pressed the panic button on her car keys. The alarm let off a screech that was impossible to ignore. The Professor, howling in pain, let go of Lucas to cover his ears.

That unholy noise was bound to attract unwanted attention. The Professor was forced to abandon his prey. He paused only long enough to slash Lucas with his claws. He was aiming for Lucas's eyes, but the private investigator turned his head just as he struck, so that he slashed his cheek instead.

Half an hour later, Lucas was sitting in the hospital emergency room. He was being treated by Dr. Cameron, head of the department, while Cuddy supervised. Two police officers were taking down his statement.

"I could give you a description, "Lucas said, "but you wouldn't believe it. Whatever attacked me had a white face and teeth like a wolf. It snarled like an animal, but it stood on two legs like a man. I don't know what it was."

"Someone in a mask?"

"If it was a mask, it wasn't the kind of mask you get for Halloween. It moved like there were real muscles and tendons underneath. The jaws opened; the eyes blinked. Maybe some kind of Hollywood special effect." Lucas said doubtfully.

"Whiteface," said one of the cops.

"What's Whiteface?" said Cuddy.

"Whiteface is the latest urban myth," the other policeman said. "Some kind of goblin that lives in the sewers of New York. You can Google it."

"Mr Douglas wasn't attacked by an urban myth," said Cameron severely. "These are real wounds. This looks like a bite mark on your neck"

"He was all over me, biting and scratching like an animal."

"Someone high on PCP or bath salts," Cuddy suggested.

"We'll put you on antibiotics as a precaution. Have you had a tetanus booster lately? "

Lucas nodded.

"You're going to need to be tested for Hep C and HIV virus."

"Can I lie down?" Lucas asked. "I'm not feeling very well."

He fainted.

* * *

Wilson seemed possessed by a kind of manic energy. Gone were the usual words of endearment, the whispered questions - "Do you like this?", "Does this feel good?", the kisses and caresses. Goal-oriented, efficient, joyless sex. This was not like Wilson at all.

"That was three."

"Four," House corrected.

"We should try for at least double digits. We're almost halfway there."

"Slow down," House said. "I'm starting to feel like Farmer Wilson's prize bull."

House's hand brushed against the other vampire's inside thigh. Wilson responded to his touch, groaning slightly. He shifted position, deftly moving out of House's reach.

"Don't do that. We won't get up to ten if you keep on distracting me."

Without warning, House grabbed Wilson by the shoulders and threw him down on to the mattress. He kissed Wilson on the mouth roughly, drawing blood. Wilson's eyes widened in surprise.

"Stop that. Let me go," Wilson said.

House held him tight, feeling the younger vampire's muscles strain against him. House kissed him again, more gently this time. Wilson snapped at him, missing him by a fraction of an inch. Missing him on purpose, House knew. Angry as he was, Wilson still wouldn't hurt him. He wouldn't draw blood.

"What was that all about?" House asked, when Wilson had calmed down.

Wilson squirmed in his arms, but couldn't escape.

"I told you. Your reward for rescuing me," Wilson said, turning his head to avoid looking House in the eye.

"And my punishment too?"

Reluctantly, Wilson nodded.

"I have ugly, vengeful impulses. I can't ignore them. I try to control them, think of safe ways to relieve the pressure."

House released him then.

House said, "If I promised you that I won't invade your dreams again..."

"I'd tell you not to make promises you might not be able to keep," Wilson said. He sat up, rubbing his neck wearily.

House's cellphone rang. It played La Cucaracha, Cuddy's ringtone. Wilson got out of bed, retrieved the cellphone from the pocket of House's pants and tossed it to him. Then he started to get dressed.

"This isn't a good time to talk. Call me back later," House said into the phone.

He didn't have time to put the phone down before the ringtone started to play. House ignored it. Wilson sat down on the edge of the sofa bed to put on his socks.

"Answer your phone," Wilson said. "It could be important."

He walked out of the apartment and across the hall, carrying his shoes in his hand.

* * *

"He was fine," Cuddy said. "Just a few scratches and bruises, and then he lost consciousness. His vital signs are failing. Cameron can't figure out why."

"Your description of Lucas's attacker," House said, "sounds a lot like the Professor. Lucas has been bitten by a vampire."

A vampire," Cuddy said, her voice shaking. House heard Cuddy take a deep breath, willing herself to remain calm. "What's the treatment?"

"There isn't one. If you'd called me earlier, I could have given you instructions on how to turn him...but then you have moral objections to vampires. Do you let your boyfriend die, or do you let him live, but as a blood-sucking monster? It's too late now anyway, which saves you from an ethical dilemma. For an initiation to work, Lucas would have to be conscious."

"Isn't there anything I can do?"

"If you can keep his heart and lungs going, he might have a chance," House said. "Shoot him full of adrenaline to keep his heart pumping; put him on a respirator if necessary. Then he'll need a total blood transfusion."

"You think it will work?"

"Theoretically, it could work. It's never been done, as far as I know. A lot depends on how potent the vampire's venom is. There's considerable variation among us, and even in the same vampire it can vary a lot depending on how long it's been since he's fed.

Lucas wasn't who he was after. I think the Professor wanted you, but Lucas got in the way. If he was intending to initiate you, he'd have fed beforehand. That would reduce the amount of venom in his bite so that the effects would be less rapid and less severe. It would give him time to perform the necessary rituals. If that's the case, we'll have more time to play with and Lucas has a better chance of survival."

"If he wanted to kill me..."

"The Professor always bragged about how potent his venom is. It's kind of a macho ego thing with us vampires."

"I'll need a sample of vampire venom."

"No."

"Please," Cuddy said. "I won't tell anyone what it is. This could be Lucas's only chance."

"So the lab techs can do a complete chemical analysis on it and come up with an antidote in the nick of time? You know how unlikely that is," House said. "Start the treatment."

"You`re responsible for this. You and this Professor and your stupid feud."

"I'm going to take care of the Professor. But in the meantime, don't go out alone after nightfall and don't invite anybody in to your home – not even people you know.

Good bye, Lisa. Be very careful."

* * *

House hung up. Then he dialed the number of Wilson's old cellphone. It rang ten times before Mia picked it up.

"Hello, Mia," House said. "I guess we have something to talk about."

"I don't think so," the teen-aged vampire said.

"Then why did you pick up the phone?" House asked. "The Professor has turned into a real publicity hound. Whiteface made the New York Times the other day. They're still calling him an urban myth, of course, but this kind of attention isn't good for any of us."

"He's not in his right mind," Mia said, "and that's because you attacked him. He has brain damage."

"I think his brain was damaged before I met him," House said wryly. "You can't be too happy with him. I figured out that he killed Thirteen. You liked Thirteen, didn't you? Dressing her up like that – the newpapers said it was the killer taunting the police – but they were wrong. It was you, showing your respect for her. You wanted her to look her best."

"Just because I'm angry with the Professor doesn't mean I'm going to side with you," Mia said. "I won't betray him. I'm not like you."

"I'm not asking you to betray him. All I want is for you to arrange a meeting between us. So we can settle things without any more casualties."

"He'll kill you."

"Isn't that what you want?" House asked. "What happens when we meet is my problem."

There was a long pause while Mia considered the matter.

"Why would I do you any favours?"

"Because it will end this feud and because I'm going to give you something very valuable in return for acting as a go-between."

"I'm rich," Mia said indifferently. "I own an entire street in central London. There's nothing you can give me that I can't get for myself."

"Yes, there is. I'm going to give you James Wilson."


End file.
